


Some days last longer than others

by crooked, notallbees



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Religious, Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Genderbending, Genderqueer Character, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Overstimulation, Powerbottom!Steve, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rimming, Secret Relationship, Spanking, Switching, Taking the lord's name in vain, Topping from the Bottom, Underage Sex, Using sex as self-harm, slutty!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:09:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 85,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2554004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crooked/pseuds/crooked, https://archiveofourown.org/users/notallbees/pseuds/notallbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Bucky moves onto Pastor Rogers’ farm on a Sunday.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>“Can’t offer you much right now,” Rogers had said with a sad twist to his mouth, “but there’s an old cabin needs fixing up, you’re welcome to camp out there and do whatever you want with it.” He laughed. “Maybe you can even teach my boy to use a hammer.”</em></p><p> </p><p>The pastor's seventeen year old son Steve is the last thing Bucky expects. He's got a smart mouth, a nose for trouble, and a habit of seducing members of the football team. Bucky didn't think he was looking for anything, but Steve 's got his own ideas about what Bucky needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was conceived of as a kind of terrible Harlequin-style story, and turned into something sweet and sexy and silly (and still a little bit Harlequin around the edges). notallbees did the heavy lifting in terms of writing, while crooked did the heavy lifting in terms of coming up with stupid (amazing) ideas, and RPing filthy disgusting dialogue for the porn, so you have her to thank for much of that.
> 
>  **Warning:** When they hook up, Bucky is 23 while Steve is only 17, about to turn 18. Just in case that's a problem for anyone.

**Now**

  
_I see my folks are getting on_  
_And I watch their bodies change_  
_I know they see the same in me_  
_And it makes us both feel strange_  
\- Bonnie Raitt, Nick of Time

Bucky’s on his second beer. He’s not really out to get drunk, but he sure doesn’t feel like going home just yet. He shifts on his stool and kicks his boot against the bar. Maybe it’s time he moved on; he’s getting sick of this town anyhow. The bar’s quiet for a Friday, everyone down at Lever High to watch the school football team play their rivals from the next county. Bucky’s lived in this town for eight months and he’s still not seen a game. He never had a lot of time for sports in school. Always too busy reading, or roaming about the countryside. Takes his mind off goddamn horses for a while. He does it because he was raised to it, but ‘good with horses’ isn’t all he ever wants to be.

There’s a commotion at the other end of the bar, and Bucky glances over his shoulder. Last thing he wants is to get dragged into a bar fight, but when he spots Jackson Bylow squaring off with a guy half his size, he turns slowly round on his stool. Looks like Jackson took advantage of the thin crowd to slip into a booth with a couple of women drinking alone, his company as unwelcome as ever. Bucky sets his beer on the bar and gets to his feet. Jackson grabs his skinny opponent by the shoulder, and Bucky winces as he realizes at least one of them is gonna get a punch in before he gets there. So be it. To his surprise, the little guy in the flashy suit gets the first hit in, although it’s obvious Jackson only takes it in the face because he’s too drunk to dodge. He recovers fast enough, his fist still caught in the guy’s lapel, and swings his other arm around to clip the guy in the face, knocking him to the floor. 

“Hey, hey!” Bucky yells, grabbing Jackson and hauling him off. By the time he gets them apart, Lou-Ann is already there with the phone in her hand, threatening Jackson with the Sheriff again. The Sheriff is Jackson’s sister, which is more of a threat than law alone could ever be. 

“Thanks, Jimmy,” Lou-Ann says, nodding at him. “Have yourself another beer on me later.”

He tips her a salute, and turns to help the skinny guy to his feet. He’s already halfway up, and he ignores Bucky’s offered hand, pausing to wipe his bloody mouth on his sleeve. “Shit,” he says, vicious-like, and pets at his mouth to see how bad the damage is. He’s got a nice mouth, and Bucky’s about to turn his eyes away, to try not to look, but then the kid looks up at Bucky, and his eyes go wide. “What the - Bucky?”

Bucky takes a closer look, and suddenly it hits him why this guy seems so familiar. He feels almost sick to think he didn’t recognize him. “Stevie?” he says, low and anxious, and when Steve’s face breaks into a loose, warm smile, he can’t help copying it. “I’ll be damned, Steve Rogers!”

Steve nods eagerly, and Bucky can see him twitching to move, the coiled tension in his body, and he quickly sticks out his hand. “Good to see you again,” he says in a lazy drawl. He doesn’t miss the flicker of surprise and hurt in Steve’s eyes, but he knows Steve well enough to know he’d have gone for a hug. Bucky remembers only too well the warm sensation of an armful of wriggly seventeen year old Steve, and the middle of a dirty roadside dive bar is not the place he wants to start reliving it. “Hey, Lou-Ann!” he yells over his shoulder, “can we trouble you for some ice?” 

“Nah, don’t bother,” Steve says gruffly, pulling his hand back, and Bucky’s surprised to hear how different his voice sounds. He’s lost his Southern drawl, sounds just like a regular city slicker, and Bucky tells him so. “That so?” Steve says, bristling. “I guess it’s been a long time, for both of us.”

Bucky nods, then glances down at his feet. “I - I gotta apologize, Steve, for what happened-”

“Don’t you dare,” Steve hisses, and Bucky looks up and into a pair of furious eyes. It makes his heart skip a beat; he’d forgotten the rage that lived just behind Steve’s eyes, so easy to forget with his wild laughter and his aching politeness. But Steve’s fire had been the thing that first drew Bucky to him, and it sickens him to think he forgot that. “Where’ve you _been_ , Bucky?”

He stares down at Steve, stunned to find the anger in his face making way for a yearning, desperate look. Bucky’s not prepared for this.

"You - wanna have a drink?" he asks, feeling a little wild. Steve looks surprised, opens his mouth like he might have something to say in response, but Bucky doesn’t let him say it. “It’s a long story,” he adds quickly. “If you really wanna hear it.”

Steve looks him up and down, and although it’s more considering than flirtatious, it still reminds Bucky a little too clearly of the way Steve used to look at him. The point of his tongue wets his bottom lip, and he nods, slowly, meeting Bucky’s eyes once more. “Sure,” he says, “let’s talk. But - maybe not here?”

“My apartment ain’t far, but uh - I got a roommate, they might not be too pleased to see us.”

“Roommate or girlfriend?” Steve asks, looking at him pointedly. He puts the slightest emphasis on the _girl_ , waiting to be corrected. 

“Ex,” Bucky says simply. “Official-like, it just happened this week, but it’s been on the way out for a while.”

Steve tips his head to one side, his eyes narrowed just a little. “I got a motel room not far from here. Why don’t you come over?” He doesn’t smile, but his expression isn’t hard, just curious and concerned. 

“Alright,” Bucky says, and glances back over at Lou-Ann behind the bar, watching them from the corner of her eye. “I’ll get us somethin’ to drink.”

 

 

**Then**

  
_“Who knows a man's name, holds that man's life in his keeping. Thus to Ged, who had lost faith in himself, Vetch had given him that gift that only a friend can give, the proof of unshaken, unshakeable trust.”_  
― Ursula K. Le Guin, A Wizard of Earthsea

Bucky moves onto Pastor Rogers’ farm on a Sunday. His car’s broken down, so the only way he could get out here was to hitch a ride with someone attending Sunday service. Mrs. Rogers greets him with a cup of coffee in her kitchen, then makes her apologies before heading over to the barn.

“Don’t feel you need to attend on our account,” she says with a wry smile as she heads out the back door. “But you’re always welcome to worship with us.” 

Bucky isn’t a man of God. If he hadn’t met Pastor Rogers first, he’d probably never have taken the job, but it had been Pastor Rogers who pulled over and helped him out when he and his car were stuck on a dirty backroad a fortnight earlier. Mister Rogers - ‘Call me John’, not that Bucky ever would - was kind and funny and swore like a sailor, which he claimed was a remnant from his army days. They talked on the long drive back to town, and as soon as Rogers mentioned needing some help around the farm, Bucky offered without a second thought. 

“I coach the school football team y’see, and I had some help last year but the old man retired, so now it’s just me. And with the farm, and the flock-”

“Count me in.”

“Can’t offer you much right now,” Rogers had said with a sad twist to his mouth, “but there’s an old cabin needs fixing up, you’re welcome to camp out there and do whatever you want with it.” He laughed. “Maybe you can even teach my boy to use a hammer.”

He finishes up his coffee and rinses the cup before he steps outside. He has his ex-army issue backpack on, stuffed with the few belongings he thought worth bringing. He told Lisa she could sell the rest or give it away. Mrs. Rogers has told him how to find the cabin, so he decides to head over while everyone else is busy at church. 

On his way, he passes the stables, and he changes direction to walk through them and take a look at the horses. Horses are one of the things he knows well, and he figures he might as well see what he's working with. There's only half a dozen stalls, only half of those occupied, or so he thinks until he stops to admire a big dun working horse and hears giggling from one of the empty boxes. Figuring it's kids who've outrun their parents, he sticks his head over the railing to chase them out. It would be just his luck for some kids to get themselves kicked by a draft horse on his first day. 

But it ain't kids. It's two scrawny teenagers, sure, two boys as far as he can tell, although the tangle of limbs makes it tricky. Certainly _sounds_ like boys, and Bucky oughta know. He backs away quietly, though not before he catches a glimpse of the blond one putting his mouth around the other kid's dick. Well, he sure can't blame them for finding other entertainment rather than sit through a sermon. The kid’s eyes slide over to the doorway, and he looks straight at Bucky, sees him watching. Bucky turns away quick, and tells himself that wasn’t a smirk he saw the kid’s mouth trying to make, stretched around another boy’s dick.

The cabin isn't hard to find, and there's not much to it inside, but there's a bed and a table and he sets his things down with a sense of relief. He's been needing to move on for a while, and at least here he's bound to find some peace and quiet. He looks around him, making a quick catalogue of the things he'll need, then heads out again, wanting to be in the sunshine. 

Bucky’s fairly certain the service will still be going, so he avoids the barn, and the stables, and circles around to a big pond with ducks bobbing out in the middle. They swim nearer when they spot him, looking to be fed, but all Bucky has left in his pockets is a scrap of tobacco and some skins. He takes the tobacco out of his pocket, then he spots the short jetty a few metres away. It looks pretty, and like a nice place to smoke unnoticed, and he ambles over. It's half hidden by rushes and a large weeping willow, so it's not surprising he doesn't spot the skinny teenager until he's practically stepping on him. 

"Holy-" he hisses, pulling himself back just in time. His tobacco slithers out of his hand and into the water. "Dammit." 

"I'll get it," the kid says calmly, leaning out over the surface of the pond to grab for the sodden paper. He tosses it at Bucky’s feet. "Mom'll get mad if there's litter in her pond."

"You're Pastor Rogers' boy, aintcha?" Bucky says, looking down at him. It’s hard to tell from here how tall he is, but he doesn’t look over 5’6’’ at the outside, slender hips and limbs. He’s got a babyish face under his mop of dark blond hair, and Bucky reels back in surprise when he recognizes the kid’s sweater and realizes he’s the one that was in the stables before. 

The kid snorts and flips the page in his paperback. “Steve, and I ain't a boy. I'm eighteen in the summer.” Bucky’s a little surprised to hear that, but relieved too. Seventeen’s plenty old enough to go fooling around with whoever you want, far as he’s concerned. Steve looks up again with a smirk, and runs his eyes over Bucky in a way that's definitely a little more than friendly. “That how you show up to church?” Bucky looks down at his old, torn up jeans, and the buttondown he’s been wearing for two days. It’s true, he’s a mess. “What would your momma say to that?”

Bucky grins. “My momma would ask me what the devil am I doin’ walkin’ into a church and not burnin’ up on the spot."

"Yeah?" Steve says, sounding unimpressed. "So what _are_ you doing here? You come for the music? The homemade lemonade? Don't look to me like you do a whole lot of prayin'."

Bucky shrugs. "Don't seem like you do neither."

"You don't need to be in a church to pray," Steve says, bristling.

"So what are you prayin for, out here?" He grins wickedly. "At least in that stable you was on your knees."

Steve rolls over and sits up abruptly, tension coiling in his body. "That a problem?"

"Not by me," Bucky says quickly, shaking his head. "People oughta love who they want."

Steve looks up at him curiously. "Is that what you pray for? Equality and all that crap?"

There's something a little forced in the way he says it, something that tells Bucky he's just parroting something he's had flung at him, something that hurt, and Bucky doesn't wanna touch that with a ten foot pole. He eases it off with a shrug and a snort of laughter. "I'm prayin yer Pa don't see me yammerin away with you when I'm s'pposed to be workin," Bucky says. "I'm yer new farmhand, James. Most everybody calls me Bucky, though.”

"Bucky, Bucky," Steve says, chewing it over on the back of his tongue like he's feeling out the flavor. "Good to meetcha, Bucky.” 

He rolls over onto his back again, and Bucky considers himself dismissed. 

 

 

The next time he runs into Steve, he's finishing up work a couple of days later, around the time Steve gets home from school. A big jeep squeals into the yard, braking hard, and Steve rolls out giggling. From where Bucky stands a few feet away, he can see the hulking shape in the driver seat lean over. Steve grins and slams the door closed on the guy, to a muffled shout of protest, and a snigger from Bucky.

"Thanks for the ride,” Steve says, thumping his fist on the frame of the open window. There’s not a thing in his voice that says, yeah, he’s talking about _that_ kinda ride, but that’s kinda the whole point with innuendo. And it’s pretty clear from the way Steve’s looking at the guy before he drags his eyes away; either they just screwed, or they’re gonna. As the kid turns his jeep around, Bucky peers through the open window. It’s not like he got much of a good look, but it’s not the same guy from the stables. That kid was skinny and lightweight; this guy could be a quarterback.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve shouts, as the jeep squeals back onto the dirt road. He tips his index finger to his temple in a little salute, and Bucky offers him a solemn nod in return. It’s the strongest instinct to smile and joke around with the kid, but it’s only too obvious where that might take him, and Steve’s clearly got enough troubles without Bucky adding to them by coming on strong. “You stickin’ around for dinner?”

“If I’m invited,” he says, bending to lift up the arms of the wheelbarrow.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Course you are, Ma said you had a standing invitation. You comin’?”

Bucky only hesitates for a second. He can’t do a lot of damage with Steve’s parents at the table, not to mention he’s been short on home cooked meals recently, and anything’s gotta beat eating stale sandwiches on his own in the cabin, “Sure, I’ll come over once I’m done and washed up.”

He finishes up his chores, and heads over to his cabin where he takes a nap for longer than he means to, and has to scrub himself over the basin instead of taking a bath like he’d intended. Mr. and Mrs. Rogers don’t seem like they’d be sticklers about punctuality, but he doesn’t wanna push his luck or offend them by showing up late. 

When he finally heads over, still in his muddy work pants and boots but with a clean shirt on, he finds Steve sitting on the tire swing behind the house, oscillating gently, his attention rapt in a book. 

“Any good?” Bucky asks, when his boots crunch on the gravel, and Steve looks up fast. 

Steve shrugs and holds up the book. “It’s for school,” he says. _To Kill a Mockingbird_. Bucky nods, and deliberately tries not to see the way Steve looks a little like he wants to cry. Steve clears his throat and tosses the book down onto the grass. “You clean up pretty nice.”

“You should see me when I really doll up,” Bucky says, glad of the change of topic. He’d like to tell Steve that he cried his own heart out for Atticus Finch when he was sixteen, but it doesn’t seem the time. He doesn’t know Steve well enough, and he’s not sure it would be taken as kindly as he means it. Steve may be a flirt, but he’s a prickly one.

“I’ll bet that’s a sight for sore eyes,” Steve says, getting up from his perch on the swing. He walks off towards the back door of the house. Bucky hesitates, then bends down and picks up the book before following him. 

Dinner is chicken pot pie with buttery mashed potatoes and vegetables that Mrs Rogers grew herself, and it’s about the best thing Bucky’s eaten in years. He tries not to eat what he’s given too fast, but his belly’s grumbling after a long day’s work, and he finishes before any of the Rogers do. He looks up guiltily, but Mrs Rogers just smiles at him and reaches for his plate. 

“I’ll fetch you some more,” she says, with an indulgent look. “I like a man who appreciates my cooking that much.” John gets up to fetch himself a second helping too, and Steve leans across the table towards Bucky. 

“Your appetite stop at chicken pie?” he murmurs, pressing his thigh against Bucky’s under the table. 

It’s too ridiculous to take seriously and Bucky snorts back a laugh. Steve’s parents glance at them, then look at each other with fond smiles. Bucky picks up his glass of water and takes a sip, but then Steve nudges his leg again, harder this time. When Bucky looks over, Steve waggles his eyebrows in a dumb exaggeration of flirtatious, and Bucky chokes on his drink. 

Steve leans in closer, making a sympathetic noise. “Wrong hole?” he mutters, giving Bucky a hard slap between his shoulderblades.

Bucky scowls at him, then shakes his head. “I’m good, ‘scuse me.” Mrs Rogers brings back his plate, and he tucks into his seconds and avoids looking at Steve. Mr Rogers tries to get him talking about sport, and Bucky reluctantly admits that he’s not much into sport, although he used to wrestle in school. 

“What do you like to do instead then?” 

“I like to read,” he says. He can feel Steve’s eyes on him, and he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out the battered paperback, laying it gently on the table between them. “By the way, you left this outside.”

Steve picks it up and Bucky looks up to see Steve frowning at him. “You shouldn’t leave your schoolbooks outside, sweetie,” his ma chides him, but Steve just shrugs, eyes still on Bucky. 

 

 

Saturday’s his day off, so Bucky asks Mrs Rogers if he can borrow the pickup to head into town.

“Oh, will you be sprucing up the cabin?” she asks kindly, and Bucky has to try not to laugh. Renovating is more like it.

“Yes ma’am.”

“There’s some brushes and things in the shed, ask Steve to fetch ‘em for you. He probably had ‘em last for his art class.”

He's just peeling out of the driveway slowly when Steve comes skidding out of the farmhouse, waving frantically in his rear view. Bucky kicks the brake and Steve pulls open the passenger door.

"Got room for one more?" he asks, already climbing in. 

"Might do, for a skinny bit like you," Bucky teases.

Steve fiddles with the radio until it spits out some crackly college rock, and Bucky looks at him in pleased surprise. "You must have the healing touch, kiddo. I spent ten minutes tryna get that thing to work."

Steve grins at him. "There's a trick to it."

"Ain't that always the way."

"So, what's your deal, Bucky?"

Bucky laughs quietly. "Nobody's that bored, believe me."

"Nah, come on, I'm interested."

"And why's that?" Bucky takes one hand off the wheel to shift gears and glances at Steve at the same time. He’s tucked up in the passenger seat with his bare toes curling over the dashboard, sneakers abandoned in the dusty footwell. He’s wearing denim cutoffs that look homemade rather than bought that way, and a loose a-shirt with a raincoat over the top, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He’s brown from the sun, which has been roaring all week and has disappeared now under a miserable, clammy shower. 

When it started to rain, Pastor Rogers had just rolled his sleeves up with a grin, and a hearty, “Good for the crops.”

Steve shrugs, and Bucky looks back at the road. “I dunno, you just seem different.”

“Different,” Bucky says, laughing under his breath, because yeah, he sure is different.

“I mean different to those other assholes around the place.” Steve stretches out as he talks, his voice loose and sleepy, and Bucky catches a glimpse of his small, muddy foot edging towards the wheel.

"Hey, don't distract the driver," he snarls in a good natured tone, and slaps Steve's calf lightly with the back of his hand. "Not too bright are ya?"

Steve makes a vague sound. "C'mon, tell me some stuff. You ain't local?"

"Nah, not exactly. I was an army brat, then my pop got wounded, honorable discharge, bought a ranch. I grew up there from when I was ten, lit out when I was seventeen."

"You go to college?"

Bucky snorts. "I look like a college graduate to you?"

"I dunno," Steve says slowly. "Let me look atcha." 

When Bucky turns his head, Steve is watching him intently, his body angled over towards Bucky and the hint of a dirty smile on his face.

Bucky laughs, only too aware of the kind of game Steve is trying to play. "You might go blind, lookin' so hard at a born sinner like me."

"I'll take that risk," Steve mutters, and Bucky just grins. Kid's a natural flirt, and Bucky hasn't got the slightest intention of doing anything about it. More than likely Steve's just using him for practice, the way teenage boys like to try their luck and see what comes back. Fishing with a net rather than a pole. He's still surprised that Steve does it so openly under his parents' noses, but probably that's just his way of rebelling. Everybody’s gotta have something, especially a preacher’s boy.

“So you read, huh?” Steve says, casual like he doesn’t care if he gets an answer or not. “Whaddaya like to read?”

“I pretty much read whatever I can get my hands on,” Bucky says, shrugging. “Left all my books behind when I moved to the farm, though. I oughta look up the library while I’m in town.”

“I can show you where it is, if you want.”

Bucky glances at him, but Steve’s dropped the pick up act, and he just looks genuinely friendly. “Sure,” Bucky says, smiling at him. “That’d be real helpful. How about you, got a favorite book?”

“I dunno,” Steve says, wriggling in his seat again to get comfortable. He starts to laugh, then cuts himself off, and he looks over at Bucky, a little self-conscious. “Don’t laugh? I guess my favorite is the Earthsea Trilogy.”

“LeGuin, right? I haven’t read it.”

“My mom used to read it to me when I was a kid.” Steve looks down at his hands, then brings one up to his mouth and chews at the ragged corner of his thumbnail. Bucky thinks he might be blushing, and he waits a minute to see if Steve will keep talking. “I’m not great at reading, I’m pretty slow, but I read Earthsea when I feel down. It’s easier because I know it so well.”

“What d’you like about it?”

Steve huffs, picking at his nail again while he considers the question. “I guess - I got sick all the time as a kid, and I never felt like - like I just, I didn’t fit in anywhere, and reading that made me feel like there’s a place I _will_ fit in, and maybe I just didn’t find it yet. Also, I wanted to be able to talk to dragons.”

“That sounds pretty cool,” Bucky says, flashing him a grin. 

“Y’can borrow mine, if y’want.” He tosses the suggestion out carelessly, like it doesn’t bother him if it’s accepted or not, and Bucky feels a haze of friendliness towards him. Maybe it’s just that Steve reminds him of himself not so long ago, albeit much braver about being who he wants to be. Bucky still ain’t quite got the hang of that.

“I’d like that, if you don’t mind.” 

Steve shrugs, but he looks pleased. 

 

 

Bucky’s stuck behind a farm truck, crawling past the laundromat on Main Street, when he spots a familiar figure on the pavement. He grins and leans over to yell through the open window. 

“Hey, Stevie Wonder!”

Steve jerks round quick, and a frightened look passes over his face until he sees Bucky. His eyes relax, and his mouth twists unhappily. “Screw off,” he hisses, turning away again. 

Bucky reels back almost like he’s been slapped. Not because of Steve’s reaction, but because of his face. One of his eyes is swelling shut, his nose is bruised and bloody, and he’s got blood all over his mouth. Bucky takes a deep breath and nudges the truck over towards the curb. 

“C’mon, doll, what’s the secret? You do somethin’ different with yer hair?”

Steve turns and scowls at him. “I said get lost, Bucky. I ain’t lookin’ fer company.”

Bucky rolls the truck to a stop. “C’mon, jump in.”

“I’m fine on my own,” Steve snaps, shrugging his bag onto his other shoulder. He’s moving stiffly, limping a little, and Bucky really wishes he knew who did this, so he could beat the shit out of them. Despite his refusal, Steve stops walking, and stands still for a moment in the middle of the sidewalk. Bucky kills the engine and gets out. 

“Hey,” he says gently, pocketing the keys as he walks over to Steve. He stops a few feet away, and Steve watches him with a wary, mulish expression. “Y’wanna get some ice cream?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I ain’t a kid.”

“I like ice cream,” Bucky says, shrugging. “Anyway, I hear it helps if you ice a black eye.”

“I ain’t gonna put Baskin Robbins on my face,” Steve scoffs. He lifts a hand to brush his bangs to one side, and Bucky notices that his knuckles are split and bruised too. His chest sings a bit too when he breathes, and Bucky would be willing to bet he got knocked down and kicked. 

Bucky wants to reach out to him, but he doesn’t think Steve would take too kindly to that right now. “So hit me,” Bucky says, grinning at him. “But I wanna get ice cream, and I don’t wanna go on my own.”

“Christ,” Steve mutters, “ _fine_ , but only ‘cause I ain’t walkin’ the whole way home.”

They get in the pickup, and Steve stares sullenly out of the window while Bucky drives them across town to the ice cream parlor. It’s late enough that the after school rush has died down, just a couple of teenagers on dates, and a few families with kids. Bucky herds Steve across the front of the restaurant and towards the restrooms in the back.

“Why Bucky,” Steve mutters, looking up at him with exaggerated bedroom eyes. “You dog. I ain’t fooled around in a public restroom in months.”

“What’s yer favorite flavor anyhow?” Bucky asks, ignoring him. He hustles Steve into the bathroom and crowds him up against the row of sinks, turning him under the fluorescent lights. 

Steve heaves a sigh, resigning himself to the checkup. “I dunno. Cookies ‘n cream I guess.”

“Mm, good choice.” Bucky leans in close, sets two gentle fingers under Steve’s chin to tilt his face up to the light. “Well, whoever worked you over did a thorough job. Hold still a second.” He grabs a handful of paper towels and wets them in the nearest basin, then reaches up to dab at the dried blood on Steve’s chin. 

“Bucky,” Steve whines, trying to turn his head away, to wriggle out of reach, but Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder to hold him still. “I’m _fine_.”

“You got a split lip, a black eye and you’ll be lucky if yer nose ain’t broke. Now hold _still_.”

Steve scowls, but he stills under Bucky’s hands and lets himself be cleaned up. With the blood wiped off, it’s clear that he’s got a big split on his lower lip too, probably a nasty bruise on the way from someone’s fist, or maybe a knee. He’s lucky he didn’t lose any teeth. Steve doesn’t meet his eyes while he works, just stands oddly still and placid. Bucky tries to be gentle, and while some of it must be hurting him anyway, Steve doesn’t show any sign that he’s in pain except for small twitches in his face; the corner of his mouth, or his eyebrows. 

“You gonna tell me what happened?” Bucky murmurs, as he dabs at a cut over Steve’s left eyebrow. 

“Prob’ly not.”

Bucky laughs softly, and Steve turns his gaze up to Bucky’s face at last. His eyes are very wide, his pupils small in the glare of the strip lights overhead, so that his irises are a very deep shade of blue. Desire kicks Bucky in the chest like an angry horse. “Not laughin’ at you,” he says in a quiet, shaky voice. “I’m sure you had good reason to fight.”

“How’d you know I fought them?”

Reaching down, Bucky picks up one of his hands and lifts it between them, cradling it gently in case he’s injured it more than just scrapes. “These ain’t defensive wounds, kiddo. Whoever started it, I know you were fightin’ back just as hard.”

“Not hard enough,” Steve mutters, glancing away again. 

Bucky’s not sure what possesses him to do it, and even as he moves, he’s sure he’ll get a slap for his trouble, but he runs his fingers up Steve’s arm and slides it carefully around his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. For a moment, Steve doesn’t react, and Bucky’s certain that slap is coming, but it doesn’t. Steve relaxes into his chest and tentatively slips his arms around Bucky’s waist. “You’ll hit ‘em harder next time,” Bucky mutters, lifting his other hand to stroke Steve’s hair. Ain’t that right, Stevie Wonder?”

Steve makes a noise, quiet and muffled. It could be a laugh or a sob. “Who even likes Stevie Wonder?” Steve mumbles.

“You do,” Bucky tells him decisively, and on impulse, he presses a kiss into Steve’s sweaty hair. Then, smiling when Steve tenses, he starts to sing softly, “ _You are the sunshine of my life_ -”

“Oh my god, Bucky, shut up-”

“ _That’s why I’ll always be around_ -”

Steve hits him after all, but not that hard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Now**

  
_the highway’s my life_  
 _the hotel is my home_  
\- Carey Bell, Lonesome Stranger

The motel Steve’s staying at is cheap and worn-looking, but it seems clean enough. Bucky’s definitely stayed in worse places: much worse, in fact. Steve pats through his pockets searching for his room key, eventually finding it in his suit jacket. He lets them in and tosses his keys on the chair in the corner.

“Have a seat,” he says, when Bucky shuts the door behind them. “Sorry it’s not much.”

Bucky shrugs. “Better than the back of a pickup.” He knows, the second it’s out of his mouth, that it’s a stupid thing to say, but Steve cracks a smile and turns his tired eyes in Bucky’s direction.

“I guess it might be.” He gestures to the bottle in Bucky’s pocket. “Whatcha got for us?”

“I brought some whiskey,” Bucky says, “but I don’t got a mixer.” He tries not to look at Steve’s hands. He could’ve written sonnets about those hands. Probably spent more time in his life thinking about Steve’s hands than he ever did about any part of someone else. 

Steve shrugs. “There’s an ice machine in the hall I think. I’ll fetch some.”

Before he goes, he takes off his jacket and lays it over the back of the chair where he threw his key, then grabs two motel coffee cups and ducks out into the hallway. Bucky hovers by the window, not wanting to intrude by sitting on the bed, or risk messing up Steve’s nice jacket if he takes the chair. Steve’s laptop is on the bed by his pillow, a stack of papers beside it. The way the sheets are rumpled make it clear he must’ve been sitting there, maybe working, before he got tired of it and headed out to the bar instead. Part of him just lights up inside; whatever Steve’s doing, he’s clearly done well for himself. 

The door opens again while Bucky is still deciding whether or not to sit, and Steve enters, balancing both cups in one hand. He mutters a thanks when Bucky goes over to take one from him, and they stand for a moment looking one another over. Steve’s a little taller than he used to be, 5’5 or 5’6 now, but it might just be his shoes. It’s hard not to notice that his suit is slick and expensive-looking, and that he looks a lot better groomed than he ever would’ve bothered with back home. Bucky feels like one hell of an ugly duckling standing next to him, in his work boots and torn jeans, the shirt he’s worn two days straight.

“So,” he says awkwardly, “you a big shot lawyer now or somethin’?”

Steve looks down at the floor, a shy smile on his face. “Yeah, something like that. But I do as much pro bono as I can get away with.”

“Shit, you really are a lawyer.” Bucky winks at him. “I better watch my mouth.”

“First time for everything,” Steve shoots back, but he looks a little pained as he meets Bucky’s eyes. “Really, Bucky, I - I’m just the same as I ever was.”

Bucky wants to point out that, no, he assuredly ain’t, but it doesn’t seem polite, so he just shrugs. Bucky himself must not have changed that much though, because Steve apparently still knows when he’s covering. 

“Really, Buck,” he says, his voice low and severe, the way he always got when something was important to him. “Just ‘cause I made it through college, and it was a close thing at that, doesn’t make me a different person now.”

There’s nothing Bucky can say to that, so he pastes on a smile that feels real enough and shrugs again. “If you say so, kiddo.”

Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out as a sigh, before going to sit on the edge of the bed. He looks tired, and Bucky wonders if he should leave, let him rest. Steve lifts his cup, then pauses when he spies Bucky still standing awkwardly between the door and the bed. “Take a seat,” he says with a frown. “You know I don’t bite unless you ask first.”

Bucky forces a smile, but inside his stomach is a whole string of knots. He wasn’t sure if they were gonna talk about the way they were before, but it seems like Steve’s gone and made his mind up about that already. Like he always does. Bucky takes a seat by Steve, a respectful distance away without being unfriendly.

“Jesus wept,” Steve says with a hint of his old accent as he looks Bucky over. “Bucky Barnes. Still can’t believe it’s you. Hand over that whiskey already, wouldya?”

“Y’ain’t got any less demanding in yer old age, Rogers.” Bucky uncaps the bottle, and pours them both a generous amount. 

Steve clinks their coffee cups together. “To losing people,” he mutters, before taking a swig.

Bucky takes a sip of his own. “I was real sorry to hear about your pa. Read it in the paper. That why you’re out here?”

“Heading home for the funeral,” Steve says with a scowl. “Asshole.”

“He was a good man,” Bucky insists, but Steve just snorts derisively. 

“Sure, because he was a man a’God. He wasn’t always.” Steve swirls the ice in his cup and glares at it. “It - I know it was his fault, Buck, why you left.” His voice is tight, almost shaking behind the control. “I know he made you go.”

Bucky shuts his eyes for a moment. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Right,” Steve says, sneering, “‘cause god forbid we let a young adult make their own goddamn choices.” He knocks back another mouthful of whiskey, and Bucky frowns, twisting his own cup round in his fingers. 

“I shouldn’t’ve come,” he says, the certainty of it slicing through him. “No use diggin’ in the dirt when it’s all long buried.” He reaches down to set his cup on the floor, but Steve leans over and puts a hand on his forearm. 

“That was outta line, Buck, I’m sorry.” He pulls his hand away and flashes a little self-deprecating smile. “You always did let me get outta line, you oughta tell me to shut my fool mouth.”

“See where that’d get me,” Bucky says, offering him half a smile. “A smack in the teeth I expect.”

Steve looks a bit sheepish, and he runs his fingers through his hair. It’s shorter than he used to wear it, but still long at the front, and it falls forward now over his forehead, some of the product wearing out. He brushes it aside with a careless gesture. “I ain’t just a dumb punk anymore,” Steve says in a halting voice, as if he’s not quite sure whether it’s true or not. “I know how to pick my battles.”

“Yeah? So what was that, back at the roadhouse?”

He expects Steve might look chastised, but he fixes Bucky with a hard look, sticking his chin out. “If you think I’m gonna sit and watch some jerkoff throw his weight around, I guess you don’t remember me that well after all.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it,” Bucky says, hoping his soothing tone doesn’t come over as patronising. Steve’s expression is tense and tired, but he relaxes a little, so Bucky must’ve pitched it right. “You know I was always proud’a you fer steppin’ up like that. Always will be.” One corner of his mouth twists up without his permission. “Just don’t want you gettin’ yerself killed is all.”

“Ain’t your job to worry about me,” Steve says. He nudges Bucky gently with his elbow. “You always were a mother hen.” Bucky rolls his eyes and takes a swig of his whiskey. “Thanks, though, for stepping in. I shoulda thanked you back at the bar.”

“Not your style,” Bucky says, and Steve snorts. 

“Well maybe it oughta be.” He heaves a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Buck. For going off at you about my pa. I asked you to tell me what happened and I do wanna hear it, it ain’t about him. It’s about you an’ me.” Steve shifts his cup to his left hand and holds his right out between them, palm up. Bucky looks down at Steve’s long, thin fingers, and he shifts his own cup to his other hand. 

“Okay,” he says, as he reaches out and wraps his fingers around Steve’s. “Where should I start?”

**Then**

  
_There's a story in our town_  
 _Of the prettiest girl around_  
 _Golden hair and eyes of blue_  
 _How those eyes could flash at you_  
\- Johnny Cash, Ballad of a Teenage Queen

If he’d given it a second thought, Bucky would’ve hoped that he was done encountering Steve in compromising positions.

Over the next fortnight he eats dinner with the Rogers family every other night, at both Mr and Mrs Rogers’ insistence. He also catches Steve with his pants down three times. 

The first time, Mrs Rogers has asked him to fetch Steve down from the treehouse. Bucky yells a few times, but even though he can hear voices overhead, it doesn’t seem to get any response, and he scowls and sets his foot to the ladder. When he reaches high enough to see inside, he almost falls off in shock. Steve’s lying back in a busted up easy chair, his pants around his ankles, while a chubby girl rides his dick like there’s no fuckin’ tomorrow. Steve’s got a perfect eyeline to spy him, but his attention is all focused on the girl, and Bucky can see his fingers digging hard into her fleshy hips. 

Bucky climbs back down, which ain’t all that easy with a raging hard on, and goes to dunk his head under the water pump. At least that answers one question he wasn’t even _trying_ to think about, of whether Steve only goes with fellas. Apparently he ain’t that picky. 

The second time, Bucky’s mucking out the horses. He’s heading around back with a wheelbarrow full of muck, when he catches sight of Steve tucked up around the back of the stables, his back to the wall. At first glance, it looks like Steve might be crying or in pain, and Bucky’s just wondering if he oughta go over there, when Steve reaches down and grabs the quarterback guy from before by the collar of his letterman jacket, dragging him up to kiss him. Bucky hadn’t even noticed the kid there, hidden behind an old barrel, and he tears his eyes away quick and lopes out of sight. 

The next day, Steve comes out after school to where Bucky is mending a fence, seats himself on one of the mended bars, and eats a banana slowly. Bucky ignores him at first, but even after he’s finished, Steve just sits and watches him. 

“Ain’t you got homework to do?” Bucky snaps, the second time he hits himself with the hammer. 

Steve shrugs, and hops lightly down from his perch. “I’m doin’ my chemistry homework.”

“Don’t look like it from here,” Bucky says, standing up and wiping his hands on his overalls. “Unless it’s how quick your ass’ll turns to mush if you sit around on it long enough.”

“Close,” Steve says, sauntering over to him, barefoot in the long grass. “Actually it’s about the reaction between two solids, if they’re put in close proximity.” 

“You get these lines from candy wrappers, Rogers?” Bucky says, grinning and turning back to his work. “Go on, scoot. I’m busy.”

The third time, Bucky has learned to be a little more cautious. He makes more noise than he rightly needs to when he walks into the stables or the barn, or any of the outbuildings around the farm. He steers well clear of the treehouse and the pond, and he starts coming up with excuses to skip dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Rogers both look a little hurt, but they don’t say anything about it, and Bucky tells himself it’s better they think he’s a little rude than catch Steve flirting with him. 

It’s all well and good until the big high school football game rolls around the following week, last game of the season, and it soon becomes pretty clear that there’s really no excuse Bucky can make that’ll get him out of going. Pastor Rogers is wild for sports in general and he’s been coaching the football team for five years. Even Steve is going, which Bucky supposes makes a strange kind of sense considering his apparent affinity with football players. 

Pastor Rogers is already at the school, and Steve is at a friend’s house, so Mrs. Rogers makes sandwiches for both herself and Bucky and they talk about nothing in particular for a while until it’s time to leave.

“You and Steve are getting along okay?” she asks, smiling at him, although he suspects there’s something a little more searching in her eyes. 

“Just fine, ma’am. He-” Bucky racks his mind for something that doesn’t involve giving high school jocks and Christian teens suck jobs around the farm. “He’s a good kid.”

She nods. “He’ll do.” She stills keeps on watching Bucky, like there’s more she wants to say, and after a few minutes she sighs and goes on. “Maybe I’m prying, but I thought you two seemed to be hitting it off, and now you barely say two words to one another. Did something happen?”

“I - think we just don’t have all that much in common,” Bucky says awkwardly. It’s that or _your son is so painfully hot I might die of it_. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she says with an encouraging smile. “Y’both like to read, doncha? And neither of you’s much into sports, although I know you both like riding horses. You know, those old nags could do with a chance to stretch their legs a little more, you both oughta take ‘em out one weekend.”

Bucky just nods. “Alright.” 

“Well, if you ask me, he thinks the world of you. When you’re not here it’s ‘Bucky this’ and ‘Bucky that’.” She glances over at the clock. “We’d better make a move if we’re gonna catch this game, and John’ll be madder than anythin’ if we miss it.” 

It’s not a big school, but it’s clear that the high school team is a religion around here from the packed out stadium. They meet up with Steve and his friend from school, and join the scramble to find seats on the bleachers. To Bucky’s relief, he ends up with Mrs Rogers between them, so he doesn’t have to worry about sitting with his thigh pressed up against Steve’s, or being the third wheel to Steve and his friend Natasha (because there’s _gotta_ be something there, just going by the way they look at each other, all up in each other’s space the whole time, all hands and smiles). 

Bucky tries to pay attention to the game, and while he really doesn’t care much about football, it’s kinda nice being part of the crowd, and cheering along with everyone else when the home team scores a touchdown. Every now and then he’ll catch a chord of Steve’s laughter over the noise, and he’ll turn to find Steve and Natasha with their heads bowed together, giggling amongst themselves. He’s not jealous, not really, but maybe he’s a little envious. He hasn’t really found someone he got along with like that since he left home, and it’s been a little lonely drifting from one place to the next. 

Mrs. Rogers spots him looking at one point, and she leans over and nudges him. “She’s a looker, ain’t she?”

“If you like ‘em that young,” he says, matching her teasing tone. She laughs and pats his knee. 

“Good answer. We should find you a nice girl.”

Bucky shakes his head, ducking his head forwards with his patented ‘aw shucks’ smile. “I don’t know about that, ma’am. I left a girl behind not long ago, and I sure ain’t marryin’ material.”

She just pats his leg again and gives him a sage nod. “We’ll see about that.”

“Whatcha talkin’ about?” Steve says, craning his neck around to peer at them both.

“Girls,” says Mrs. Rogers. Bucky finds himself blushing when Steve catches his eye, looking confused and closed off. 

“I gotta go use the bathroom,” he says, turning away from them. 

“Steve, you’ll miss it!” He shrugs as he gets up and starts to fight his way along the row. One of the boys on the home team scores a winning touch just seconds before the game is over, and the school crowd goes wild screaming, even Mrs. Rogers. Bucky stands up too, clapping and yelling for the sake of form, but he feels kinda stupid, because he can’t stop looking around for Steve who still ain’t back yet. 

He still doesn’t show up after the cheer squad does their victory dance, and people start to peel out into the parking lot or across the field. Natasha goes off with a group of kids all chattering excitedly and cheering, and Mrs. Rogers sighs and says something about finding John so they can get home. 

“You should see those boys in training,” she yells at Bucky over the noise of the crowd, as she leads him towards the locker rooms. “They’re like pussycats! Can you imagine having a coach who’s been a preacher _and_ a drill instructor?”

Bucky grins and says that he can’t, and fervently hopes she’s not gonna take them all the way _in_ to the locker room. He’s already on edge; the last thing he needs right now is to catch sight of a dozen half-naked, sweaty, muscular teenage boys. They find Pastor Rogers in the hallway, yelling at the retreating backs of the rowdy football players, instructing them to shower ASAP or _else_. He spots Bucky and Mrs. Rogers and greets them warmly, wrapping his wife in a hug, then giving Bucky an enthusiastic handshake. 

“What a game, eh? What a game! We always struggle against Oakworth but the boys sure pulled it all out tonight.”

“Sweetheart, have you seen Steve?”

The Pastor frowns. “Steve? He was around a few minutes ago, he came down to give me a hand. Didn’t see where he ran off to though.”

Mrs Rogers sighs and turns to Bucky. “Would you just run outside and look for him, honey? He mighta gone to look for us up in the bleachers.”

Bucky nods. “Sure, I don’t mind. You two don’t worry about us, I’ll find Steve an’ bring him home.”

"You're a good boy," she says, giving his arm a squeeze. “He’ll show up, he always does. See you t’morrow I expect.”

Bucky leaves them to it and heads back out to the field, fighting through a wave of cheerleaders and excited looking parents and teenagers. There’s not many people around still, but he can hear groups singing and cheering in the distance, finding their cars or heading home on foot. A few kids are making out, higher up in the stands, but Bucky pays ‘em no mind. He walks over to the parking lot. There’s still quite a handful of cars, but he can’t see Steve anywhere. He circles around to the entrance of the school, but it’s all dark and shut up, just the sports hall open for the game. 

He ain’t exactly panicking, because he’s sure Steve can take care of himself, but there’s still something in Bucky that doesn’t like the idea of him just disappearing. He knows Steve has a habit of picking fights, and it would be just like him to go off and get himself beaten up with a huge crowd of people around. It seems pointless, but Bucky does another quick sweep of the parking lot just in case. For all he knows Steve might be in one of them, tangled up with Natasha, which is just one more thing Bucky does _not_ need to see. 

The search takes him back around near the bleachers, and he’s about to head over to the locker rooms again when he hears scuffling in the dirt underneath the stands. Bucky groans and pushes his hair off his forehead. 

“Steve? That you?” he calls out. There’s no answer but for muffled voices and stifled laughter, and he sighs, wondering why the hell he ever volunteered for babysitting duty, before walking a bit closer. “Steve, c’mon, we gotta get back. Your ma and pa are waitin’.” He can see someone in the shadows, but he’s not close enough to tell who it is. 

Bucky takes a couple of steps closer again. There’s a whispered exchange then someone groans, followed by Steve’s voice, quiet but perfectly audible, _No, goddammit, I told you I ain’t got a boyfriend-_

Steve stumbles out of the dark, his jeans unbuttoned and hanging loose on his hips, his shirt pulled out of place and his hair all messed up. “What,” he sneers, watching Bucky look him up and down. Bucky glances over his shoulder and sees another boy, almost his own height, still half dressed in his football colors. Steve shakes his head slow, tipping his head back with a challenge. “What’s’a matter, Bucky? Don’t like what we’re doin’?” He drops his eyes to Bucky’s crotch. “Or you like it a little too much?”

Bucky can feel his heart hammering in his throat, and his hands shake at his sides with the urgent need to rip into something. Not Steve. And not the kid, it ain’t his fault, Bucky knows that really. But _something_. He wants to hurt _something_. Steve licks his lips and takes half a step backwards, putting one hand to his hip and sliding it up under his t-shirt, baring a slip of his belly to Bucky. It’s almost like an invitation, but Bucky recognizes it for what it really is. It’s a taunt. A tease. A ‘look what you can’t have’. 

“I’ll be waitin’ by the pickup,” he says, putting everything he’s got into keeping his voice steady. It’s easy to curl his lip into a sneer to match Steve’s, easy to emphasize the swagger in his step as he walks away. As he turns his back, he hears Steve’s voice behind him again, low and solicitous, _no, baby, that’s my cousin, he’s just got somethin’ against goin’ the other way, it’s me he’s got a problem with, he ain’t gonna tell nobody-_

When Steve finally appears fifteen minutes later, Bucky’s chain smoking with the window open and the radio turned down low. He watches Steve in the rear view as he stumbles towards the car, looking drunk and stupid. He wrenches open the passenger side door and climbs in, and glances over at Bucky as he takes a seat. “Wasn’t sure you’d wait.”

“And what would I’a told yer parents if I’d left ya here?” Bucky snaps at him, putting the truck in gear. “Stupid little shit.”

“Bucky-”

“Save it,” he says viciously. “I don’t wanna hear a word outta you between here and tomorrow.”

Steve glares, but he snaps his mouth shut and turns to stare out of the window at the falling darkness. It’s a twenty minute ride out to the farm, but Steve doesn’t make a sound the whole way there. Bucky looks over at him a couple of times, but he just keeps on staring out the window and doesn’t look round once. He’s expecting Steve to just jump out of the pickup as soon as they get in the driveway, and go right into the house, but even after Bucky shuts off the engine, Steve doesn’t move. 

“Thanks for the ride,” he says, staring ahead through the dusty windscreen at the porch light. Everything else is switched off; either his parents are already in bed, or they’re on the other side of the house. Steve slides his gaze over to Bucky’s, lazy and smirking. “You know which one I’m talkin’ about.”

“Shut your mouth,” Bucky says, hands tightening on the steering wheel. “This ain’t a game, kiddo. You think I’m some kind of toy?” 

Steve’s expression folds in, through concern and confusion to shame, and he leans closer across the seat. “I, I didn’t-”

“What the fuck were you thinkin’, sayin’ all that shit about me back there?” Bucky hisses, fists clutching so hard on the wheel that his hands start to ache. “I don’t care who you fuck, Steve, but you do _not_ talk shit about me like that. I’m not one of your little high school buddies you can go ‘round spreading lies about.”

Steve hangs his head. “I don’t do that.”

“Uh huh, so why’d you lie to that jerkoff back there? Just so desperate to bend over for someone, you’d tell him anythin’?”

“Fuck you,” Steve mutters, quiet and sincere. 

“No, fuck _you_ , kid. I ain’t asked anythin’ of ya, but I’m askin’ now. I ain’t got a problem with guys, okay?” He grabs Steve’s chin and tips it up, and even though Steve pulls his head free at once, it still gets him looking Bucky in the eye. “I got _no_ problem with guys.”

Steve swallows hard, looking very young suddenly. “Bucky-” he whispers. “I’m sorry, I-”

Bucky only realizes what he’s doing a second too late to stop it, before Steve is leaning into him, tilting his face to press his mouth against Bucky’s. For a long few seconds, Bucky does nothing, and then his body reacts for him, his hand coming up to push Steve away, shoving him back against the passenger door. 

“Don’t,” he says, turning his head away to hide how fast he’s breathing. “Just - don’t, Steve.”

“What,” Steve sneers, pulling up his bravado again like a cloak, “I’m good enough for the MVP but not for you?”

Bucky groans, kicking open his door and climbing out before he really does take a swing at the kid. He feels like he’s got insects crawling under his skin and he aims a kick at an empty bucket, sending it clattering across the yard. “The fuck are you thinkin’, kid?” he snaps, turning back to where Steve is sitting on the edge of the seat, his legs dangling out of the car. “You think I want some scrawny punk kid who can’t keep it in his pants, huh? Who thinks it’s alright to come onto me not half an hour after he lets some stupid jock use him up?”

“Yes,” Steve says, scowling. “Yeah, I think you _do_ want it.”

Bucky snorts and steps back, scuffs his toe in the dirt. “Yer crazier than a bag o’raccoons.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Go to hell.”

Steve jumps out of the truck and comes over to him. He stands toe to toe with Bucky, then he reaches up and scrubs over his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. “That better?” he asks quietly, before standing up on tiptoe. “All clean now.” He doesn’t quite get near enough to touch, but Bucky can feel the heat coming off him all over, can smell the dirty grass scent on Steve’s clothes and in his hair, the trace of sweat on his skin. And he wants, God, he _wants_ -

“Stupid little shit,” he mutters, making a tight fist of his fingers in Steve’s hair before he leans in and kisses him. 

Moaning, Steve surges up against him, pliant and eager now that Bucky’s given some kinda permission. His hands come around Bucky’s neck to anchor himself in place, and his mouth opens up and he pushes his tongue against Bucky’s. It’s not a perfect kiss; Steve’s a little more enthusiasm than finesse, but Bucky’s so riled up already it’s like a match to hay. They stumble together, Steve’s back hitting the door of the truck with a _thud_ , and Bucky crushes him against it, finally feeling that slim, eager body moving against him, Steve’s fingers tangling in his hair and pulling. Bucky runs his hand down Steve’s ribs, reaches around his hip to get a good handful of his ass. Steve practically sobs against his mouth, pulling back slightly with a big gasp of breath, and Bucky lets him go. 

“Bucky,” Steve mutters, nuzzling against the stubble on Bucky’s cheek. “Shit, please don’t tell me we gotta stop-”

“It’s late,” Bucky says, trying to keep calm. He can’t be doing this. He _can’t_. Steve’s parents would kill him. “I - we both oughta get to bed.”

Steve groans and surges up to kiss him again, and Bucky’s fuckin’ useless to do anything but kiss him back and ease him away gently. “Steve-” he gasps, “Stevie, c’mon - we can’t do this.” Steve makes a soft noise of protest, and Bucky guiltily adds, “Not _now_.”

“Alright,” Steve murmurs, finally letting go. There ain’t much light to see by, but the moon is bright enough so Bucky can see that Steve looks wild as hell; his hair is pulled all over, his mouth swollen, and his hoodie hangs off one of his shoulders. Bucky pulls it up for him and runs a hand over his hair, smoothing it down.

“So yer parents don’t notice,” he says, at Steve’s wondering expression.

Steve shrugs. “They don’t care.”

“They do.” He gives Steve a gentle push towards the farmhouse, and Steve turns away from him with a reluctant groan. 

“Night, Bucky,” he calls over his shoulder.

Bucky puts his hands over his face, then pushes them back through his hair. “Yeah, night, kid.” He’s so screwed. 

 

 

Next day, Bucky heads out early, borrowing the pickup again so he can disappear for the whole day. He drives into town first and swings by the hardware store, where he picks up some more paint, some tools and screws. Pastor Rogers offered him the use of his toolbox whenever he needed, but it’s got a couple of gaps, a couple of things that need replacing, and Bucky’s more than happy to do it. It’s hardly gonna make up for seducing the guy’s kid, but it’s a start.

 _He seduced **you**_ , Bucky tells himself, for the hundredth time. He barely slept the night before, turning the whole thing over and over in his mind. There’s no denying he’s flirted with Steve, but on the whole he’s tried to keep it friendly. 

“You swung by last week,” the guy at the checkout says, giving Bucky a friendly smile. “Fixer upper?”

Bucky nods and tries out a friendly, non-flirting smile. “Yeah, somethin’ like that. I’m workin’ fer the Rogers.”

“The pastor?”

“That’s the one. Got a little cabin over there, needs some TLC.”

“Nice family,” the guy says. “Kid’s kind of a tearaway.”

Bucky starts laughing. “Yeah, ain’t that the truth.”

“Name’s Barton,” the guy says, reaching over to shake Bucky’s hand. “Welcome to our little corner of heaven.” He’s got a sarcastic drawl to his voice that makes Bucky smile and he feels, for the first time since he got here, like he might have made a friend. He’d like to count Steve in that too, but -- well, he can’t, and it’s obvious why not.

“You from around here?”

Barton shakes his head. “God no, not even close. My folks were carnies, I grew up in the circus.”

“No kidding.”

“Swear on my momma’s grave.” He gives Bucky a considering look. “You ever shoot?”

Bucky shrugs. “Few times.”

“I’ll take you shootin’ sometime.”

“Sounds good,” Bucky says, picking up his purchases. “You ever come out to the farm?”

Barton frowns. “Sunday service y’mean? Nah, not much call for religion where I come from.”

“I can’t tell ya how glad I am t’hear that,” Bucky says with a laugh. “They’re sweet as pie, but the praise Jesus stuff is a little much for me.”

They talk for a little longer, and Bucky is relieved to find that it’s not so hard to make friends after all. They make plans to grab a beer the following week. 

Trouble is, as soon as he leaves the store, his mind is back on Steve. He puts his things in the truck and climbs in, wincing at what looks like a new dent in the driver's side door. Hopefully it's just his imagination, and not something he and Steve put there. Bucky switches the radio on to distract himself, but he hasn't yet got Steve to teach him the trick to get it working, and all he does is scroll through channels of static for five minutes, getting more and more frustrated until he eventually gives up.

He sings instead while he drives. There's nowhere special in his mind, he just feels like getting away. Part of him thinks about calling on Lisa but he dismisses that plan right away. She wouldn't be happy to see him, and it wouldn't make things easier if she was. He stops to fill the tank and pick up a drink and some snacks, then he drives out towards the hills. It's a good day for a walk.

When Bucky finally gets back to the farm that night he's exhausted and a little sunburned. He's missed dinner for sure, but as he parks the pickup in the yard, Mrs. Rogers leans out of the window to tell him she's saved him a plate.

"I didn't like the idea of you going hungry," she says, passing the plate through the open window. "You work hard, you need to keep up your strength."

"Thank you, ma'am, I appreciate it."

She smiles at him. "Steve's been lookin' for you. I'll tell him you're back."

"Aw, I don't wanna disappoint him, I was gonna head to bed soon-"

Mrs Rogers nods and looks him over slowly. “You boys fightin’?”

Bucky jumps. “No, we - uh. We had a, uh-”

“My boy’s a scrapper,” she says, taking pity on him, “but he don’t mean it, he’s got a good heart. And he seems to think an awful lot of you.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know about that,” Bucky mumbles, turning away to hide his blush. 

He manages to keep out of sight of Steve for three whole days, which is some kinda miracle in itself. Sunday is a good day to keep himself busy, when the Pastor is busy with the service, and Steve’s either roped in to help out or he’s made himself scarce. That Sunday must be the latter, because Bucky doesn’t even catch a glimpse of him all day. Mrs. Rogers tries to get him to come for dinner, but Bucky cries off and goes to work on the cabin instead. The old place is starting to take shape a little, but he’s still gotta do something about the rotten bathroom, and the water that only runs half the time, and most of the place still needs painting. 

Monday and Tuesday crawl by. Bucky works harder than usual, hunting out jobs to keep him busy, doing everything so meticulously that Pastor Rogers starts to worry, and ask him if he’s okay. More than once Bucky catches him in fervent, whispered conversation with Mrs. Rogers. It doesn’t matter how hard he works, he can’t get Steve out of his head. Every time he crosses the yard he catches himself turning to look up at Steve’s window, which is over the garage. Sometimes he wonders if Steve’s parents deliberately gave him a bedroom he could sneak out of easily, maybe knowing they wouldn’t be able to keep him in if they tried. 

Tuesday night, he’s sick of sitting alone in the cabin, so he grabs his guitar and his thermos of coffee and he goes out to sit by the pond. It doesn’t occur to him until he’s already sitting crosslegged on the jetty that it might be a little pathetic to sit and mope in the place they first talked, but by that point he’s already tuned his guitar and gotten comfortable, so he stays where he is. 

He doesn’t play loudly, but it’s a quiet night, so his voice probably carries down to the farmhouse, if anyone happened to be listening. It doesn’t occur to him that anyone might be until he hears footsteps in the long grass behind him. 

“You couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

The smile touches Bucky’s mouth before he has time to think about it, and he turns to look over his shoulder. Steve is standing a few feet away, his hands in his pockets. He’s not smiling, but he’s here, so that’s a start. Rather than reply, he shuffles around a little, turning towards Steve, and strums a couple of chords on his guitar. 

“ _There’s a story in our town,_ ” he sings softly, watching his hands instead of looking up at Steve’s face just yet, “ _of the prettiest girl around_ -”

Steve snorts, and Bucky grins and catches his eyes for the next line. “ _Golden hair and eyes of blue_ -”

“You’re a corny piece of shit,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. He walks closer and sits down at the edge of the jetty, putting his legs over the edge so he can dip his toes in the water. He’s wearing a sweater that’s much too big, and Bucky can see the moonlight shining on his neck and shoulder. Steve tilts his head away as he paddles gently through the pond scum, and Bucky lets his eyes linger over his neat, round little ear, and the tendons in his neck pulling taut. 

Steve looks over at him a couple of times while he’s singing, first with just the hint of a smile, and again with a grin when Bucky sings him the last verse, “ _Gave up all her wealth and fame, left it all and caught a train-_ ”

“So, this is yer way of sayin’ sorry?” he asks when Bucky is done, frowning a little. 

Bucky shrugs. “It’s an apology, if you want it.”

Steve nods, once. “What else?”

Bucky folds his arms on top of his guitar and looks back at him, holding his gaze steady. “What’re you after?”

“Whatever you’ll give me,” Steve says, shrugging with one shoulder. He glances away, looking down at the water. “I know what you probably think’a me,” he mutters. He leans forwards, curling into himself. “But I ain’t what you think I am.”

“Steve-”

“You said I thought you were a toy,” Steve says, quiet and clear. He takes a deep breath. “I think maybe - you were right about that, I _was_ treatin’ you like that, and I’m sorry too. I just - I guess I don’t know any other way to do this. But I like you, Bucky.”

Bucky smiles at him a little sadly. “I like you too, Stevie. Yer a brat, but I like you a lot.” Steve starts to smile, but Bucky shakes his head. “But I like it here, too. Yer parents have been real good to me, and I don’t have anyplace to go if I screw this up just for a roll in the hay.”

“I ain’t just a roll in the hay,” Steve mutters. He draws his knees up and wraps his arms around them. “It ain’t just that you’re good-lookin’, I mean I _like_ you, yer real sweet and you make me laugh.” He sighs. “And you - you _see_ me. Everyone else just looks at me an’ sees the pastor’s boy, or the tearaway who’s blown half the football team. That ain’t really me.”

“I know that.” He shuffles closer on his ass and reaches out to Steve with one hand. “Hey, I’m real sorry about the other night.”

“Fer kissin’ me, or fer runnin’ off?”

Bucky shrugs. “Both?”

“But you ain’t sorry fer yellin’ at me?”

“You had that one comin’.”

Steve smirks at him. “Yeah, guess I did.” He unhooks one of his hands from around his knees and reaches out to take Bucky’s. His fingers are cold, so Bucky curls them into his palm and brings his hand up to his mouth, leaning forwards to blow warm air into his curled fingers. 

“That better?” he mutters, his mouth lingering on Steve’s skin. 

“I dunno what you want,” Steve says, quiet and sullen.

Bucky shrugs and strokes his fingertips over the inside of Steve’s wrist. It makes him shiver. “Me neither.” 

Eyeing him carefully, Steve licks his lips and turns slightly to face him. “You wanna fuck me?”

“No,” Bucky says, shaking his head. At Steve’s hurt expression, he smiles and adds, “At least, not right away.”

Steve snorts at him and pulls his hand away. “What, you wanna _date_?”

Bucky sticks his chin out and looks Steve in the eye. “Somethin’ wrong with that?”

“I - no, I guess not,” Steve mutters, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair nervously. “Just nobody ever really wanted to date me before.”

“I don’t believe _that_. Maybe you just didn’t give ‘em a chance.”

Steve looks away from him. “Maybe. So, what, you can’t date me ‘cause of my parents, but now you wanna date me?”

“Christ,” Bucky murmurs, putting his hands over his face. “I just - I don’t think it’s such a good idea. Yer folks-”

“What if we don’t tell ‘em?” 

Bucky groans, but Steve just gives him a steady look. “Stevie, I ain’t sure lyin’ about it makes it less of a dumb idea-”

“We’ll tell ‘em eventually,” Steve says, looking determined. “Might be we decide this ain’t gonna work out anyhow. It’s better that way if they don’t know. Don’t want ‘em throwin’ you out fer breakin’ my heart.” He grins. “They’re awful protective.”

“Far as I can see, they don’t take all that much notice of who yer carryin’ on with.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Then you ain’t got nothin’ t’worry about, have ya?”

"What about you, that why you don't date? Don't wanna get yer heart stomped on?"

"Oh, now you know all about me?” Steve mutters, looking away from him. 

Bucky shrugs and reaches out again, touching the backs of his fingers to Steve’s cheek. “Maybe I wanna _get_ to know ya.”

“Bucky,” Steve whispers. He tips his head, pushing his cheek against Bucky’s hand. It’s not warm out, but Steve’s skin is hot against his fingertips, a warmth like sunburn coming off him. Bucky can’t help but smile; he’s never seen Steve blush before. “I oughta get to bed,” Steve says, looking away. “Early start.”

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Bucky says with a wry smile. 

Steve laughs and gets to his feet. “Uh, I’ll look for you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be around.”

“Night, Bucky.”

“Night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also listen to lickerish doing a dramatic reading of part of this chapter [right here](http://lickerswish.tumblr.com/post/104691968675/i-reblogged-sonickittys-voice-ask-meme-a-couple) :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a long time coming, but I really needed to get this story straight in my head rather than just punching it out :) I promise though, I'm not going to abandon it, and it'll be worth the wait! <3

**Now**

  
_When the shadows of this life have gone_  
_I'll fly away_  
_Like a bird from these prison walls I'll fly_  
_I'll fly away_  
-Alison Krauss, I'll Fly Away

Trouble is, as soon as Bucky opens his mouth to talk, he realizes he ain’t half drunk enough to be telling this story to Steve. He’s told it once or twice, over the years, the couple of times he really let his guard down with someone. And they would say they understood, but he’d catch that look in their eye. The fear that he might one day do something like that again. And they looked at him with sympathy but he knew they didn’t really get it. That’s how he knew he didn’t really love them. 

He pulls his hand away from Steve’s and rubs it over his eyes. “Y’know,” he says, sighing heavily. “Can we - do that later, maybe?”

Steve frowns at him. “How come?”

Bucky shuts his eyes a moment. He wonders how to say that he’s afraid Steve will hate him if he knows the truth. He goes for a half truth instead. “I think I need some more liquor before I go through all that,” he says, and reaches for the whiskey. “Plus, it’s kinda nice talkin’ to you again without draggin’ all that shit up.”

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly, with a soft smile. “It’s nice talking to you too.” 

They look at one another across the bed, until the moment pushes on into awkward, and Bucky turns away, clearing his throat. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve mutters eventually, straightening up and setting his empty cup on the nightstand. “I guess I ruined your evening.”

Bucky smiles. “Are you kiddin’? God, I always wondered where you’d ended up. I’m real proud’a you, makin’ somethin’ of yerself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, rolling his eyes fondly. “Look at me, high roller, livin’ it up in the penthouse suite of this fine palace.”

“You oughta see the place I’m livin’,” Bucky says, playing along. “Picket fence, dog in the yard, two brats crawlin’ around.” It rolls off his tongue before he thinks about what he’s saying, and the words don’t even really register until he sees Steve’s eyes widen, and he leans back, away from Bucky.

“You, uh-” He hesitates and bites his bottom lip. “You’ve got kids then?”

Bucky shakes his head quickly. “No, hell no, I was - Christ, I was kiddin’, sorry. Guess that fell a little flat.”

Steve shrugs, and the corner of his mouth twitches as he tries not to smile. “No need to get so flustered, ain’t like it’s any of my business anymore.” He turns away so he can stifle a yawn, and Bucky catches him looking at his watch.

“I’m keepin’ you up.” Bucky reaches over to put his own cup on the nightstand. “I oughta head home.”

He gets to his feet, but Steve stands up with him, just a step behind, and he reaches out to wrap his fingers around Bucky’s wrist. “Wait,” he says, quiet but filled with urgency. “Can’t we - can’t we just talk for a little while longer? I’m sorry, you’re not keepin’ me up. I mean, I had an early start but I ain’t in any rush tomorrow.” He smiles shyly, then he notices Bucky glance down at their hands and he lets go abruptly. “Unless you wanna go, it’s okay.”

Bucky _should_ go. He was right in what he said before: nothing good can come up dredging up the past, he’s learned that lesson before. But he looks down into Steve’s tired, pleading eyes, and he wants nothing more than to stay here forever. It’s all the more reason he should smile and shake his head, but the trouble is, Bucky never was able to say no to Steve.

“Well, I did promise to tell you-”

“Later,” Steve says, shaking his head. “I guess - I guess it’s not really that important, not compared to seeing you again.”

Bucky nods. “I guess we still got some whiskey left,” he says, shrugging. “Be rude not t’drink it.”

Steve smiles then, full and warm. “Sure, blame it on the booze.”

“Nah,” Bucky says, turning back to face him. “I’ll stay ‘cause you asked me to.”

“Yeah, yeah, you always were a charmer, Bucky Barnes.”

“Speak for yerself, teenage dirtbag.”

Steve stifles a snort of laughter, and turns around to grab the bottle of whiskey. “Christ, if we’re gettin’ into that, I definitely need another drink.” He pours them both another drink, and hands Bucky his cup. “Y’know, this may be awkward as hell, but I’m really glad we ran into each other tonight.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“So,” Steve says, putting down his cup so he can gather up his papers and his laptop, moving them over to the chair. He climbs onto the bed, putting his back to the headboard, and motions for Bucky to join him. “You said ex?”

“Aw, hell,” Bucky mutters, sitting on the edge of the bed so he can unlace his boots. “You don’t wanna hear about all that jazz, believe me.”

Steve makes a sympathetic face. “You broken up about it?”

“Nah.” Bucky shucks his boots off and scoots back to sit cross-legged on the bed. Steve raises his eyebrows and gestures to the space beside him again, and Bucky feels his stomach clench anxiously. He pats the knees of his mucky jeans. “I, uh. Don’t wanna mess up your sheets.”

“You’re that worried, take your pants off,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “It’s nothin’ I ain’t seen before.” When Bucky doesn’t move, Steve sighs and reaches to unfasten his own pants. 

“Stevie, what’re you-”

“What’s it look like?” Steve lifts his hips up and slides out of his pants, then tosses them onto the floor. “That better? Now you won’t be the only one flashin’ some skin.”

Bucky’s mouth has gone very dry. Call him pathetic, no doubt it’s true, but he’s daydreamed about this plenty of times since he left; Steve, warm and sweet and laid out for him again, like nothing ever went wrong. He’s wearing these little tight black boxer shorts, and Bucky can’t help noticing that his thighs have more definition than they used to, a little bigger, like the rest of him. He probably works out now. 

“You stare any longer, I’ll have to start charging.”

“Never grew into that smart mouth, didya?” Bucky shoots back, forcing a smile to cover his embarrassment. This has gotta be the worst idea he’s ever had. But Steve is smirking at him and sipping his whiskey, and it seems like taking his pants off is maybe the only sensible alternative to leaving. He throws his legs back over the side of the bed and quickly slips his pants and his socks off, before moving up to where Steve is waiting impatiently. Bucky still tries to sit a respectable distance apart from him, at least so they’re not touching, and Steve hands his drink over. 

“Here’s to my big mouth,” Steve says, grinning at him.

Bucky laughs, and it eases a little of the tension. “Yeah, I’ll drink to that.” He takes a big gulp of his whiskey, and tries to think of something boring to occupy his mind, and not the fact that he’s in touching distance of Steve again. Bucky looks over guiltily when he realizes he’s completely missed what Steve just said to him.

“Huh?”

“I _said_ ,” Steve says, smiling fondly at him, “did you wanna talk about the ex?”

Bucky looks down at his drink. “Ahh, not really. Like I said before, it was on the way out for a while. I don’t think we were ever a good match really.” He rubs his thumb over the rim of his cup and sighs. “She’s seein’ someone else anyways, I’m s’posed to be movin’ out on Saturday.”

“Where to?”

“Doesn’t really matter,” Bucky says with a shrug. “Just away from here. Nothin’ keepin’ me here now.” He looks up and finds Steve watching him, his eyes dark in the low light, very serious. “How ‘bout you? Got yourself someone back home?”

Steve’s mouth tightens again, just for a moment, and he pushes it into a smile. “Not me,” he says lightly, looking away for a moment. “You know I’m not one for dating.”

“Thought maybe you grew out of that.”

“Doesn’t look like it.” He glances back at Bucky. “I guess I’m waiting for the right person.”

Bucky frowns. “That doesn’t get lonely?”

“I dunno,” Steve says carefully. “Isn’t it lonely to keep dating people who aren’t a good match for you?”

“Ouch!” Bucky winces, and Steve flashes his teeth. It’s _almost_ a smile. Bucky’s really well-acquainted with the ways Steve smiles. 

“Plus I get laid plenty, so it could be worse.”

Bucky swallows hard, and tries to think of a way to change the subject. He can’t be thinking about Steve getting laid, not if he’s gonna sit here and have a conversation that _doesn’t_ involve him pitching a tent in his underwear. Luckily, Steve gets there first. 

“So, where you been, Buck?”

It’s a loaded question if ever there was one, but Steve’s tone is light, and he looks genuinely curious. Bucky tells him a little about some of the places he’s lived over the past couple of years, trying to spice them up with anecdotes about the woman who’d owned the garage he worked at for a year, or the landlord in his last place: a Gulf War vet who was obsessed with Barbra Streisand. Truth is, most of them bleed into one after a while, just a string of backwater places where nobody knew his name, and he forgot theirs as soon as he moved on. 

“I thought maybe you’d settled down by now,” Steve says quietly. 

“Not the marryin’ kind,” Bucky says with a shrug. “What’s your excuse? Too busy I bet.”

Steve snorts. “Something like that.” He leans in a little, lowering his voice to a husky stage whisper. “Plus, you ruined me for every other man.” Bucky closes his eyes and swallows hard, but Steve is already giggling, leaning away again with his laughter. Bucky forgets, sometimes, how playful he could be, how much he liked to tease and bicker and then work out all the frustration with a couple of rounds in the sack. 

“You know,” he says, rising to the bait. “Your seduction technique ain’t what it used to be.”

Steve just gives him a pitying look. “Right, because your pants fell off all by themselves.” Bucky must look mortified, because Steve bursts out laughing. He rocks forward on the bed, curling into himself as the mirth builds in his chest. It’s good to hear him laugh again, and Bucky’s smiling before he can even think about it.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes at Steve, once he’s got himself under control. “Laugh it up.”

“Sorry,” Steve mutters, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Think I’m kinda tipsy. You know I’m kidding though, right? I didn’t - that ain’t why I invited you here.”

Bucky nods. It’s what he expected - really, what he was _hoping_ \- but it’s still a disappointment somehow. “Calm down, kiddo. I’ll be a gentleman.”

“I know,” Steve says, smiling at him fondly. 

“C’mon then, tell me about yerself. I wanna hear what I’ve missed.”

**Then**

  
_"Birds sing after a storm. Why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever sunlight remains to them?"_  
\- Rose Kennedy

Steve comes by the next evening, just after Bucky’s gone to change out of his work clothes. It’s probably the only time in his life Steve’s shown up early for something. When Bucky answers the door, he’s honestly expecting the pastor. Pastor Rogers is jovial and kind and he makes his way up every few days to check on Bucky’s progress with the cabin, to offer a hand with a paintbrush or drop off some of Mrs Rogers’ baking. Sometimes he brings along a couple of beers and he and Bucky will chat amiably, sometimes about their stint in the army (Bucky’s much shorter, but it gives them some common ground), and sometimes about the farm.

He opens the door with an excuse on his tongue, ready to cry off for the evening, when he sees Steve standing on the other side and he realizes, too late, that he’s only wearing his boxers. 

“Holy hell,” Steve breathes, raking his eyes over Bucky without a hint of shame. “You change your mind about goin’ out?”

Bucky groans. “Yer early. I was gettin’ changed.”

Steve takes a step towards him, hands reaching out to touch. “That’s okay, means we got some time to kill-”

“Nuh-uh,” Bucky snaps, stepping out of reach. “You can wait out here, I’ll just be a minute.”

“Fine,” Steve mutters, rolling his eyes as he turns away. Bucky pushes the door shut and struggles into his jeans and a shirt. He ain’t exactly dressed up, but it’s a lot nicer than what he usually wears around the place. Okay, so maybe he’s a _little_ dressed up, but not too much. For one thing, it’s just Steve. And for another, they can’t have this looking too much like a date to Steve’s parents, let alone anyone else. 

When he opens the door again, Steve is kicking at the dirt with his hands in his pockets, but he turns when he hears the creak of the door and his mouth catches a smile. “Hey, you really do clean up nice.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky says, grinning stupidly and taking the chance to really look at Steve. He’s actually wearing a pair of jeans that don’t have any rips, along with a thin, soft-looking sweater that clings to his slim torso. “You look pretty damn good for jailbait.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you’re funny. It was your idea.”

Bucky grins and reaches out to cuff his shoulder. “Yeah, for a date. You just wanted to screw.”

Steve takes a step closer, leering at him. “Still do, cowboy.”

Sighing, Bucky flings his arm around Steve’s shoulder and hauls him off in the direction of the pickup. “Yeah, well, I don’t put out on the first date.”

He means it, too, but that doesn’t mean Bucky isn’t willing to let Steve get a little handsy if that’s what he’s out to do. That’s why he suggested a movie. It’ll be quiet on a Wednesday night, and it gives them some semblance of privacy at least. By unspoken agreement, they keep their distance on the way to the movie theatre, Steve actually sticking to his own side of the truck, but Bucky can feel Steve watching him while they shoot the shit about books and movies. 

They pick seats near the back of the theatre, off to one side near the wall, and Steve props his feet up on the back of the chair in front before the commercials even start. Bucky’s not even slightly interested in watching the movie; he picked the most boring thing on the listings in the hopes that they’d have the place almost to themselves, and by the time the movie rolls, it looks like he picked right. There’s a few older couples sitting further down, towards the middle, and a couple of kids sitting up in the back row, but there’s nobody near him and Stevie. Nobody watching at all. 

About fifteen minutes into the movie, Steve leans up against his side, and Bucky puts an arm around his shoulders. He feels Steve make a soft noise of appreciation as he snuggles into him. “We ain’t really here to watch this crappy movie, are we?”

“Whadda _you_ think?”

Steve laughs under his breath, and mutters, “Y’gonna be mad if I get fresh?”

Bucky grins and turns his head slightly to kiss Steve’s temple. “I was gonna ask the same thing.”

Steve sucks in a deep breath, and slides his hand over Bucky’s stomach, reaching to cover his hip. Bucky moves his arm around the back of the seat, and wraps his fingers around Steve’s jaw so he can tilt his face up to kiss it. His lips are soft and sweet, like he’s maybe used a chapstick to keep them moist for this, and it makes Bucky smile. 

“You laughin’ at?” Steve murmurs, grinning. 

“Not a thing,” Bucky whispers, leaning in to kiss him some more. 

Steve kisses with a mixture of enthusiasm and not-quite-enough hours of practice, a little too eager to get his tongue in Bucky's mouth. Probably all those hours he spends makin’ time are spent a little more energetically than kissing. Bucky turns his body into Steve's warmth and presses on his chest gently to slow him down some while he tucks his face into Steve’s neck and nuzzles at his jaw. “Not a race, kiddo,” he murmurs. “We got two whole hours to kill.”

Steve shivers under his touch and tilts his head back, inviting Bucky to kiss his throat, lap his tongue over Steve’s pulse. They don’t talk much, after that; mostly Bucky, with whispered encouragement or subtle direction. When Steve forgets himself and gets a little noisy, Bucky eases off and strokes his fingers through Steve’s hair, pulling it back from his forehead, and digging his fingertips in at the back of his neck. It makes him sloppy and pliable, and he pushes his face into Bucky’s neck with a contented hum. The attention keeps him sleepy and soft for a little while, and Bucky turns his face to the screen, though he’s not really seeing the action, too focused on the feeling of Steve pressed up all along his right side. 

Eventually, though, Steve starts to crave his attention again, and Bucky sucks in a surprised breath when Steve’s fingers dig into his thigh. 

“Hey there,” he whispers.

Steve slips his palm further up, and Bucky spreads his legs a little to accommodate him without thinking. “Hey yourself,” Steve says, turning his face so he can mouth at Bucky’s jaw. “This okay?” His hand comes up a little higher, feeling out Bucky’s dick where he’s half hard in his pants. 

Bucky swallows, trying to keep himself still. “That ain’t first date territory, Rogers.”

Sighing, Steve scrapes at Bucky’s jaw with his teeth, and presses his palm a little harder. “You sure? I promise I ain’t gonna make you cream your pants.” 

Breathless and flushed, Bucky laughs under his breath, and puts his hand over Steve’s to still his gentle movements. The pressure is delicious, but Bucky’s gotta be firm with himself, and especially with Steve. “Save something for later, huh sugar?”

Steve shrugs, disappointed, but Bucky puts his arm around Steve’s shoulders and leans in so he can whisper, “You start touchin’ me, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop.” Steve shudders, and seems pacified by the implied promise in Bucky’s words. 

They make out a little more while the rest of the movie plays, and Steve mercifully keeps his hands above the waist. When they leave the movie theatre, they walk back to the pickup barely a step apart, so close that their arms brush together once or twice. Bucky wants badly to put his arm around Steve, but he keeps his hands to himself for now. They make a little conversation as they drive home, but mostly they sit in a companionable silence, trading glances now and then. 

They’re almost home when Steve finally speaks up. “That was a good movie, Buck,” he says, his voice warm with amusement. “Thanks.”

Bucky laughs, glancing across at him. He knows neither of them saw above fifteen minutes of that movie, certainly not enough to follow along with the story, and what they did see of it was godawful. “I guess you got good taste in movies,” he says sweetly, raising his eyebrow a little before looking back at the road. 

“Almost home,” Steve says, something in his voice that sounds hopeful, and almost taunting. “Sure you don’t wanna pull over for a little while?”

“In yer dreams.” Bucky shakes his head, smiling to himself. “I promised I’d have you home before curfew. It’s a school night, remember?”

Steve groans. “Jeez, I _never_ had to work this hard to get in someone’s pants before.”

“And that’s exactly why you oughta,” Bucky says, trying not to laugh. “I’m a class act, y’know. I ain’t droppin’ my drawers just fer a pretty smile like those kids at yer high school.”

“Ya think I got a pretty smile?” Steve asks, perking up in his seat. 

Bucky snorts with laughter, and the headlights sway slightly on the road before he gets his hand on the wheel properly. “Right, like you don’t know yer goddamn gorgeous.” He glances over again, and Steve’s grinning at him, bright and happy. “The answer’s still no,” Bucky adds. “We ain’t goin’ parkin’.”

Steve groans, but he don’t really mean it, and he kicks his feet up on the dash for the last two miles to the farm. 

“I mean it,” he says, breaking the silence once more when they pull into the driveway. “I had a real nice time, Bucky.”

“Me too, kiddo.”

Steve unfastens his seatbelt and starts to shuffle across the seat towards him, but Bucky shakes his head and opens the driver’s side door. “Nuh uh, out you get. I’m walkin’ you right to yer front door.”

“Yer kiddin’,” Steve says, rolling his eyes, but he looks pleased as Bucky slams his door and hurries around to meet Steve on the other side of the truck. It’s only twelve paces or so to the door, and Bucky doesn’t dare take Steve’s hand, but he walks close enough to his side that their hands touch, knuckles brushing together. His parents have forgotten to switch the porch light on for Steve coming home, so they’re standing in shadow when they step up to the screen door, and Steve turns to face him. 

“Y’wanna hear a secret?” Bucky says quietly, stepping up closer to Steve, a little too close to be just friendly. Steve nods, drawing in a shallow breath as he tilts his head back to meet Bucky’s heavy gaze. Smiling softly, Bucky runs his fingertips up Steve’s left arm, his touch as light as he can make it. “Saying goodnight is my favorite part.”

Steve catches another quick breath. “Oh yeah?”

Bucky nods, pressing his other hand on Steve’s waist and pulling him closer. “Shut your eyes.” 

“Buck-” 

Whatever Steve wanted to say melts on Bucky’s tongue as he pulls Steve into a soft, eager kiss. Even though they’ve been making out for hours, this kiss feels like something brand new, and for the first time Steve seems content to let him take the lead rather than rush them on. It only lasts a couple of minutes, of course, then Steve makes a desperate sound in his throat, and he pulls Bucky into the shelter of the brick porch by his shirt, and starts kissing him harder. Bucky moans a little, and Steve gets an arm around his waist and tugs him in close so he can grind up against Bucky’s thigh. 

“Jesus fuck,” Bucky mutters, pulling his mouth away from Steve’s and grabbing his face between his hands. “Yer a fast one, aincha?”

Steve licks Bucky’s bottom lip, surging up into him again. “I’m a seventeen year old boy,” he mutters, and Bucky can feel his grin against his mouth. “Can’t help it.”

“Sure ya can,” Bucky murmurs, kissing him quick before pulling away. “Go jerk off like a normal seventeen year old, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve mutters with a loud groan. “It’s gonna fall off, the amount of time I spend jerkin’ off over you.”

That shouldn’t make Bucky’s stomach flip, or make him lightheaded with desire, but he can’t much help what his body does without asking him. “Yer a menace,” he tells Steve, reaching out to touch Steve’s chin with his thumb. Bucky ought to’ve shaved, because Steve definitely has some stubble burn around his mouth, but it’s a little late for that now. Steve smiles at him self-deprecatingly as he reaches out to open the screen door, and Bucky longs to carry him off to bed and never let him go. 

“Steve? That you, honey?” It’s Steve’s mom, calling from inside the house, but they both jump a little at the sound.

“Go on,” Bucky says gently, “get yerself to bed.”

“Night, Buck,” Steve whispers, before turning tail and disappearing into the house.

 

 

Bucky’s taking a break, because he may not be a man of God, but all that means is he’s working from seven on a Sunday and ready for breakfast by the time everyone else is dragging themselves to prayer. It’s a little before eleven now, which means they’re all preoccupied up at the chapel for a good hour longer and he’s got the run of the farm. He likes Pastor and Mrs. Rogers an awful lot, but he knows they wish he had a little more to say to the man in the sky. They don’t push him into going to the services though, that’s one thing he can say; they just assume that he’ll turn up eventually, when he’s good and ready. No ifs or buts, just when. 

He takes a sip of coffee from his thermos, and climbs to his feet to stretch out. That’s when he notices Steve sitting on the fence not ten feet away. Steve isn’t doing anything much, but he’s got his sketchbook on his knee and he salutes Bucky with a slow, jaunty tilt of his right hand. 

“Ain’t you got someplace to be?” Bucky calls out to him, unsettled to find him so close by. Steve grins and rocks back on his precarious seat, spreading his legs for balance. He’s only wearing a faded t-shirt and his old, ragged cutoffs, and Bucky can see nearly the whole of his skinny brown thighs, laid open like a meal. His feet are bare, scraping on rough wood, and his hair catches the sun that’s rapidly climbing to noon. 

“Pa don’t need me today!” Steve yells back, which Bucky is sure must be a lie. He can’t imagine Steve’s parents not wanting him at a service, but he’s also gotten to know that Steve’s pretty good at wriggling his way out of it. 

Bucky realizes he isn’t getting away without a fight, and he takes another swig of his lukewarm coffee before he crosses to Steve through the long grass. Steve doesn’t hide the sketchbook as he gets close, and Bucky puts his hand out to warm over the curve of Steve’s left knee as he reaches for it. Steve doesn’t try to stop him from taking it, and Bucky looks down at a rough sketch of himself, sitting shirtless in the grass, head turned away. “You’re always watchin’, aintcha?” he says, lifting his eyes to look up at Steve, for once a head taller than him. “I bet you see all kinds.”

Steve sticks out his chin. “I see how much you wanna kiss me again,” he says, his voice low and gritty with a challenge. And god help him, Bucky does, he wants that and a whole lot more, but they really shouldn’t be doing it here, where anyone could see. “I been waitin’, ya dumb hick.”

He pushes one foot out, skims his slim toes over Bucky’s hip, over the swell in his jeans. Bucky drops the sketchbook on the ground and grabs for Steve’s foot with his right hand. Steve gasps in surprise, almost loses his balance. “I told you before, I ain’t playing games with you, kiddo,” Bucky says, squeezing his hand around the arch of Steve's foot before running gentle fingers up his calf. Steve’s mouth opens slightly and his eyes go wide and wanting, but he still has that twinge of amusement there. Before Bucky can talk some sense into himself, he grabs the worn fabric of Steve’s shirt and hauls him forward to kiss him. Steve loses his balance and falls forward into Bucky, who catches him and gets his hands under Steve’s little ass to hold him up. Steve moans into his mouth, and his tongue comes out right away for a taste, no hesitation whatsoever. His legs hook around Bucky's waist and he slings an arm around his neck to pull him in close. 

"Easy there, kiddo," Bucky mutters, nudging back. "You tryna get us killed?"

"Bucky," Steve moans, grabbing for his shoulders. "Can I blow you? Please, you got no idea how bad I want it."

"Fuck me, you really don't mess around, do ya?"

Steve grinds against his belly and kisses Bucky again, hot and urgent. "You got no idea," he says again, panting against Bucky’s mouth. "Been thinkin' about it since the first time I set eyes on you."

"The first time when you were sucking another guy's dick?"

"Yeah," Steve says as he turns his head to get at Bucky's jaw. "That time."

"I think we oughta take things a little slower.”

Steve shakes his head quickly. "Bin waitin' weeks already. Jesus, Bucky, I gotta taste you."

With a groan, Bucky presses Steve against him for a moment, before loosening his hold, urging him to jump down. “You ask me,” he mutters, wondering if Steve can feel how fast his heart is beating. “You need to learn a little patience.”

Steve slides down Bucky’s body and sets his feet in the grass. “Alright,” he says, looking a little chastened. “Sorry.”

Bucky glances over his shoulder, then he presses his thumb and forefinger around Steve’s chin and squeezes gently. “Hey, I just wanna do this right. Let me take you out, we’ll go for a drive.” He smiles as he drops his hand back to his side. “You still owe me that second date.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Steve says, reaching up to scratch his shoulder absent-mindedly. “I - sorry, if I made you mad. I don’t - I ain’t really _dated_ someone before.”

“I know, Stevie.” Bucky frowns, trying to think of the right thing to say. The last thing he wants is for Steve to feel awkward or guilty about this. “But it’s - it ain’t nothin’ special, I just wanna get to know you a little first.” He reaches out and wraps his fingers around Steve’s wrist, tugs him closer. “Thing is, when we _do_ get our hands on each other, I want you to know it ain’t gonna be just one time. I ain’t lookin’ fer a quick roll in the hay, kiddo. Yer worth more than that.”

“Jeez, Bucky,” Steve mutters, pushing him away. He turns his head, probably trying to hide his blush. “Y’don’t gotta butter me up, told you I’m a sure thing.”

Groaning, Bucky cups Steve’s face between his palms and turns him up to look him in the eye. “Dammit, Stevie, I ain’t after anythin’. Yer smart and beautiful, and someone oughta tell ya once in a while.”

Steve’s still blushing, but he gives Bucky a crooked little smile before he shrugs him off. “Alright,” he says, taking a few steps back. “Tuesday night work for ya?”

Bucky grins and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Tuesday’s perfect.”

 

[ ](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/109330324225/some-days-last-longer-than-others-practising-with)

 

Bucky can hardly keep himself straight for the next two days. He keeps himself busy with work, and drives into town to grab himself a coffee at the diner when he knows Steve’ll be getting home from school on Monday. He gets back in time for dinner, because the Pastor made him promise, and spends the whole time making conversation with him about the army and avoiding Steve’s eye. He offers to do the dishes when they’re done, but Steve quickly volunteers as well. Sarah and Pastor Rogers share a bemused look, then they shrug and amble off to the den to watch TV. 

“What’re you avoidin’ me for?” Steve grumbles when they’re gone. 

“Yer smart enough to figure that out,” Bucky mutters, sliding the dishes into the soapy water and reaching for the scouring pad. He passes a clean plate to Steve, who glares as he takes it and wipes it with a dishtowel. 

“Pretend I ain’t,” he says.

Bucky sighs, and checks over his shoulder to make sure the door is shut. When he’s sure they aren’t about to be caught out, he twists around and puts one wet hand on Steve’s neck, the other on his waist, and kisses him hard, bending him back against the kitchen counter. 

Steve lets out a surprised moan, and cuts it off quickly, melting in Bucky’s grasp. Bucky digs his fingers into Steve’s t-shirt, pinching into the soft skin of his stomach before pulling away again, leaving soap suds on his throat and a wet stain on his shirt. 

“‘Cause if I spend too much time around you,” Bucky whispers hoarsely. “I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Jesus,” Steve mutters, reaching up to touch the wet spot on his neck. “Message received.”

Bucky flashes him a filthy grin and plunges his hand back into the water. “Tomorrow, okay?”

Steve nods, looking a little dazed. “Sure. Tomorrow.”

Bucky skips the family dinner the next day, because he doesn’t think he can sit and look Sarah and Pastor Rogers in the eye, knowing what he intends to do to their son later that evening. Steve finds him sitting by the pond with his guitar, red-cheeked and wheezing from running up from the farmhouse as soon as he was done eating his dinner. 

“Ready to go?” he says breathlessly, skidding to a halt in the dusty grass. 

Laughing, Bucky gets to his feet and reaches to sling his arm around Steve’s shoulder, a casual touch like he might if they were still just friends. As if they were _ever_ really just that. “You bring a jacket?”

“Nah,” Steve says, shrugging. He’s only wearing a t-shirt and his ripped skinny jeans, but Bucky just shrugs. At least one of them’s come prepared for it to get cold later. 

“In you get,” he says once they reach the truck, giving Steve’s thigh a light, playful slap. Steve yelps and hops inside, reaching over to dig his fingers into Bucky’s ribs as soon as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “Hey, hey!” Bucky says, laughing as he tries to twist away. “No disturbing the driver!”

Steve giggles and comes nearer to get a better angle. “You ain’t driving yet!”

With a growl, Bucky grabs his wrists and pins him down against the bench seat. “I said quit it,” he mutters in a low voice, and Steve shivers and goes still underneath him. His eyes are dark and full of want, and Bucky can feel Steve’s chest heaving against his own, still a little short of breath from before. Steve’s never _told_ him he’s got asthma, but Bucky’s seen him with his inhaler once or twice, when he thought nobody was looking. 

“C’mon,” Bucky says quietly, before letting go of Steve and pushing himself up. “Let’s get outta here.”

They don’t drive that far, because they’re already in the middle of nowhere, and it doesn’t take long to find a field to park up in where they’re not likely to be disturbed. 

“So,” Steve says, turning to him, his eyes bright with expectation, and a hint of color in his cheeks. “What now?”

Bucky grins and jerks a thumb behind him. “Follow me to my gracious abode, kiddo.”

He jumps out of the truck, and climbs up into the flatbed, before reaching down to give Steve a hand. Steve eyes it for a moment, before reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Bucky’s wrist, allowing himself to be helped up. Bucky’s got it set up with every blanket and pillow he could find in the cabin, a bottle of Mrs Rogers’ homemade lemonade for Sundays, a big bag of chips, and a carton of cookie dough ice cream.

“You ain’t real,” Steve says, looking up at him with a wary smile. “Ya gotta be punkin’ me.”

Bucky laughs and sits down, pulling Steve along with him. They get comfortable, and Steve digs into the ice cream without a second thought. “Bucky,” he says, pulling the spoon out of his mouth and smearing ice cream over the corner of his mouth and down his chin. “This is some serious high school cliché shit right here.”

Grinning, Bucky pulls him closer by his t-shirt and kisses him softly, then licks up the ice cream from around his mouth and leans back. “They’re called _classics_ ,” he says, resting his hand on Steve’s thigh. “‘Course, if y’don’t like it, we can just head home-”

“Not a chance,” Steve growls, and Bucky laughs at him. He rolls onto his back, while Steve spoons more ice cream into his mouth with a thoughtful look on his face. “Bucky?”

“Mhmm?”

“This is just about the sweetest thing anybody’s ever done fer me.”

Bucky smiles. “Just you wait ‘til I suck your dick.”

There’s a spluttering sound, then Steve starts coughing. “Fuck,” he hisses, drawing in a sharp breath. Bucky sits up and reaches over to slap him between his shoulderblades. Steve has ice cream running down his chin and dripping down his t-shirt, and he’s scowling as he struggles to get his coughing under control. “Fuck you.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, laughing ruefully. “Didn’t know you were tryna inhale it.” He reaches over and wipes the cream off Steve’s chin with his thumb this time, then sucks it into his mouth. 

Steve’s silent for a moment, and it takes Bucky a moment to realize that Steve has stopped coughing, and is just staring at his mouth. “Oh,” Steve says softly, and then the two of them both move in at the same time. Bucky kisses the ice cream off Steve’s lips, and drags his fingers through Steve’s hair as he pulls him down onto the pile of blankets. 

“Christ, Stevie,” Bucky mutters, when their lips part for a moment. He kisses Steve’s chin, the tip of his nose, his left cheek, then goes back to cover Steve’s mouth with his own again. 

Making soft, appreciative noises, Steve shifts into Bucky’s lap and tangles their legs together. He works sticky fingers up under Bucky’s t-shirt and spreads them out over his hip, digging in ever so slightly when Bucky puts his hand between Steve’s shoulders to pull him closer. Bucky thinks Steve must’ve been kissing some pretty bad kissers before now, because he already seems to be improving, picking up on the lessons Bucky is ever-so-subtly trying to teach him. He’s a fast learner, which just makes Bucky a little sad to think that maybe no one's ever kissed him properly before, even with how much he’s fooled around. 

They break apart after a couple of minutes, and Steve settles himself in the pillows, getting comfortable. “You’re really settin’ a high bar for dates, ya know that, right?”

Bucky shrugs, and strokes a curl of hair back off Steve’s forehead. He brushes Steve’s eyebrow with the pad of his thumb, smoothing it out, and Steve’s gaze goes a little unfocused. “I thought it was high school cliché,” Bucky teases.

“They’re called classics,” Steve murmurs, and turns his head as Bucky starts to pull his hand away. He catches Bucky’s thumb in his mouth, scraping his teeth over it delicately. It makes the start of a laugh stutter in Bucky’s throat, and his gut surges with desire. 

“Yer so fuckin’ beautiful.” Steve ducks his eyes, and Bucky admires the dark wing of his eyelashes quivering against his cheek. His mouth opens a little, and he pulls the tip of Bucky’s thumb in with his tongue. Bucky moans a little and curls his fingers gently around Steve’s jaw. “Christ, I wanna get my mouth on you.”

Steve moans loudly, and his eyes open wide, looking up into Bucky’s face as he sucks harder on his thumb. It’s too much for Bucky, and he pulls his hand free reluctantly. “Can I touch you?” he mutters, moving his fingers down to touch Steve’s chest through his shirt, rub his damp thumb over Steve’s nipple, already standing up in the cool air. The temperature’s gone down with the sun, and Bucky’s already glad he brought his jacket. He’ll be forcing Steve into it before long. 

The corn in the field hasn’t grown all that high yet, but it’s getting there, and there’s enough of a breeze that the stalks rustle pleasantly, surrounding them with a soft sound like distant applause. Steve rocks up against him, shuddering when Bucky leans in and drags his tongue over Steve’s nipple through his shirt. “Stevie?”

“Yeah,” Steve moans, digging his fingers into Bucky’s hair, “God yeah, please, Bucky. Touch me all you want.”

Bucky slides down and pushes Steve’s shirt up to kiss his stomach. The taut skin jumps under his lips, Steve shivering at the contact, and Bucky wraps his hands around Steve’s hips. He rocks up again, as if testing Bucky’s grip, and Bucky presses him down hard against the blankets. 

“Aw, fuck,” Steve murmurs, covering his face with his hands, before pushing them back, swiping his hair off his face. “Please, Bucky, please-”

“Easy, tiger,” Bucky teases, and digs his teeth into Steve’s hip, drawing out a long, painful moan. 

“Jesus.” Steve whimpers when Bucky starts sucking on his skin, turning the bite into a hickey. “Buck - _fuck_ \- please tell me you brought condoms.”

Bucky snorts with laughter, smothering the sound against Steve’s hip. “Yeah, buddy,” he says, grinning up at him. “I don’t know _where_ you’ve been, ain’t takin’ any chances with that.”

“Smartass,” Steve huffs, nudging Bucky with his knee. “I’m careful.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

He goes back to kissing Steve’s stomach, enjoying the way he can span across Steve’s hips with his hands. His thumbs meet in the center, where a trail of soft, pale hair tucks down below Steve’s waistband. Bucky traces it with his tongue while he unbuttons Steve’s jeans, and reaches to haul them down by the pockets. Steve makes another whimpering noise, and his fingers move uncertainly to touch Bucky’s neck and shoulders. 

“Do you, uh - you want me to put it on?”

Bucky glances up at him. “What?”

“The condom, should I - I mean, if you don’t wanna do it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Bucky says, sitting up a bit. “Doncha want me to?”

Steve blushes. “Forget it, I’m bein’ dumb.”

Bucky leans forward and brushes his mouth against Steve’s belly again, then he licks his lips, draws in a deep breath, and blows a raspberry against his skin. Steve yelps in surprise, then he starts giggling, and Bucky crawls up to kiss him, even though Steve is still laughing against his mouth. “Hey,” Bucky whispers when Steve relaxes into the kiss, “take a deep breath, alright? We’re just here to have fun is all.”

“Alright,” Steve says, smiling into his mouth again, his hand pressing on the back of Bucky’s neck to pull him in for another kiss.

Bucky works his way down Steve’s body again, pushing his t-shirt right up to his armpits so he can kiss his way over Steve’s chest. While he sucks on one tiny, sweet nipple, he reaches between them to rub the heel of his hand against Steve’s dick, smiling when Steve gasps and jerks up into the pressure. 

“Shit,” Steve hisses, his breathing stumbling out of time. “Shit, Bucky, ‘m gonna embarrass myself at this rate.”

“That’s quite a compliment,” Bucky tells him, shuffling down to mouth at his dick through his underwear. Steve lets out a long, low moan, and Bucky echoes it as he laps at the hot, hard flesh through the soft material. He reaches back into his own pocket and pulls out a condom, unwrapping it while he continues moving his mouth up and down. 

Steve starts breathing hard when Bucky sits up a little and slowly peels down his underwear. Bucky gives him a worried glance, but Steve just shakes his head quickly. “Don’t. I’m fine, honest.”

“Y’sure?”

“Don’t fuckin’ tease me,” Steve whines, “ _please_ -”

Laughing softly, Bucky shakes his head, and rolls the condom onto Steve’s dick. He takes it in his hand, keeping his touch light while he explores the weight and size of it in his fingers. Steve tosses his head back, his neck straining, and Bucky watches the pull of his muscles with fascination. Not wanting to keep him waiting too much longer, Bucky crouches forward and takes the head of Steve’s dick in his mouth. The condom tastes nasty, but Steve swells up a little more in his mouth, sitting hot and pretty on his tongue, and Bucky shuts his eyes at the pleasurable sensation of sucking him. 

Bucky has a small, selfish hope that Steve’s experience with blowjobs has been similar to that of kissing, and that Bucky’s going to blow all his previous experiences out of the water. He shuts his eyes and focuses on the sound of Steve’s voice, wavering above him, and does his best to make it break. It only takes him a couple of minutes to have Steve fucking up into his throat, shuddering all over, swearing and apologizing and begging for more. A couple of minutes more, and Steve is jerking and pulling at his own hair while his dick pulses in Bucky’s mouth. Bucky kind of wishes he could taste it. He keeps sucking gently, until Steve makes a soft noise of surrender and nudges him with his foot. Grinning, Bucky pulls away and strokes Steve’s belly with his fingertips. 

“Hey,” he says gently, moving up to lie by Steve’s side.

“Fuck,” Steve replies, his face buried in the crook of his elbow while he breathes heavily. “Shit, you weren’t kidding.”

Bucky laughs and pulls Steve into his arms, kissing him roughly on his temple, while Steve melts bonelessly into his embrace. They lie, warm and sweaty together for a couple of minutes, until Steve finally comes back to himself, and pushes himself up with a shiver. 

“Jesus,” he murmurs, and reaches down to ease off the condom with a wince. “I shoulda brought my jacket after all.” Bucky roots around in the pile of pillows until he finds his own jacket, and he drapes it around Steve’s shoulders. “Aw, Buck-”

“Shut it,” Bucky says, grinning as he lies back and folds his arms behind his head. “No whinin’. Besides, you look real cute in it.”

Steve rolls his eyes and huffs impatiently, but either he’s secretly pleased, or he’s too fucked out from shooting his brains out to really be mad about it. He pulls up his pants again, leaving them unfastened for now, and snuggles up to Bucky’s side, head resting on his shoulder. 

“So, I guess I oughta return the favor,” he says after a minute, stroking his palm flat over Bucky’s stomach.

Bucky turns to look at him. “That ain’t how it works, Stevie. Sure, if you wanna, but don’t do it ‘cause you feel like you should.”

Steve bites his lip and his eyebrows draw in while he puzzles over that. “Maybe-” he says haltingly, “maybe in a minute.”

“Sure,” Bucky says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and reaching for a blanket to pull over them both. He looks down at Steve’s troubled expression, then pulls him in close and turns his face to the sky. The stars are starting to fade into view, and Bucky points up with his free arm. “You know that one?”

Steve looks up and squints. “Uh, Cassiopeia?” 

Bucky grins. “No idea. Hoped you’d know.”

Laughing, Steve digs his fingers into Bucky’s side again, a gentle echo of tickling him earlier. “I know you only pretend to be dumb, Buck.”

“It’s workin’ for me.”

“Whatever you say,” Steve mumbles sleepily.His breath warms Bucky’s neck, and Bucky wraps his arm a little tighter around Steve’s shoulders. Steve’ll fall asleep, or he won’t, and maybe he’ll get Bucky off, or he won’t, but that’s okay. He just feels right, right where he is.


	4. Chapter 4

**Now**

_The highway won't hold you tonight_  
 _The highway don't know you're alive_  
 _The highway don't care if you're all alone_  
 _But I do, I do._  


\- Tim Mcgraw, Highway Don’t Care

“My life ain’t all that interesting,” Steve says, shrugging, but he starts talking anyway, perhaps just for something to fill the silence. Maybe it makes Bucky a sap, but it’s nice just to hear his voice, and he closes his eyes for a minute so he can just listen, marking out the differences in Steve’s voice now. He listens closely to the words too, and he tell there are things that Steve is talking around. He mostly glosses over college, and at first Bucky thinks that’s ‘cause of him, but the way Steve evades it even when Bucky asks questions makes him think that there’s something Steve doesn’t want him to know. He’s a little more forthcoming about his job. 

“So you work for the man now, huh?” Bucky teases, nudging Steve’s calf with his knee. “Had enough of rebelling?”

Steve smiles, but it’s taut and sad, and Bucky feels bad for makin’ fun. “It seemed like the right choice, after college,” he says with a shrug. “I never really wanted to go into corporate law, but I just kinda ended up headin’ that way.” He sighs. “I mean, the firm I work for is great, and I’m a third year associate now, so my time is a little more my own - I can make some time for pro bono work, but-” He catches himself, and looks over to Bucky. “Sorry,” he says, with a self-deprecating smile. “It ain’t that interesting. Hell, it ain’t even interesting to me, I don’t even know why I’m telling you.”

Bucky frowns a little, shifts his weight while he considers whether he should ask or not. He figures, at this point, he’s got nothing left to lose. “What happened after I left?” he asks gently. “You don’t gotta tell me, but I - I got this sense that you ain’t tellin’ me somethin’.”

To his surprise, Steve starts laughing: a bitter, unhappy sound. “There’s a lot of things I ain’t tellin’ you, Bucky,” he says, shaking his head. “You don’t really wanna hear all that.”

“I do,” he insists. “If you wanna tell me.”

Steve shuts his eyes for a minute and takes a long, deep breath. Bucky thinks maybe he ain’t gonna talk after all, but eventually he opens his eyes again, though he keeps them turned away from Bucky. “After you left, I got in this big fight with my folks. Well, my pa really. Momma was almost as furious with him as I was, that he’d sent you off without a word. That you didn’t even say goodbye.” Steve smirks. “She was mad at you too, for that.”

It hurts, to hear that, but only because Bucky knows it’s true. Whatever may have happened, he had no right to scamper away like a kicked dog. “Can’t say I blame her,” he says sadly. “I - I made a lot of stupid decisions back then.”

Steve glances at him, his eyes sharp. “Like me?”

“No,” Bucky says, without even needing to think. “You were the best thing I ever had.” Steve looks away again, his mouth a flat line beneath his frown, and Bucky leans in. “I swear, Stevie, I never regretted a thing about what happened between us, except for leavin’.”

Maybe it’s because he’s a little drunk that Steve takes him off guard, but he turns suddenly to Bucky, reaching up to catch at his jaw with one hand and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Steve pulls away after a few seconds, before Bucky really has a chance to react to it, and gives him a sad smile. “Thanks, Buck,” he says quietly. “I - I needed to hear that.”

Bucky licks his lips unconsciously, trying not to think about how much he’d like to kiss Steve again, resolutely ignoring how good he smells, how Bucky’s hand would probably fit over his hip just the way it used to. He clears his throat instead, and takes a sip of his whiskey. “Yeah, well. You ought’ve known that, and it’s my fault if you didn’t.” He takes another sip and reaches over for the bottle to pour them both another finger. “So, what happened after that?”

Steve groans and holds his cup out for another hit. “Christ, this is so stupid. I ran off, had some big notion about trackin’ you down, maybe runnin’ away with you if you wanted.” Steve makes a face, scowling at himself. “I think I knew, even then, that you wouldn’t want me even if I found you, but I - I guess I just needed to know that you were okay. I - I mean, shit, Buck, I didn’t even know if you were _alive_.”

It seems obvious, now that Steve’s mentioned it, but Bucky never even considered that Steve might come after him, might worry about what had happened to him. He could just as easily have been rounded up by Rumlow’s buddies and dumped in a river as disappeared down a dusty back road. “Christ,” Bucky murmurs, covering his eyes with one hand. “I - I never even thought, Stevie. It - it seemed like you’d be better off, if I just made a clean break.” 

“My pa said that, I bet,” Steve says with a scowl. 

“Yeah, he did.”

Steve shrugs, and Bucky reaches down to touch Steve’s hand where it rests on his thigh. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m as sorry as I could ever be, Stevie, honest.”

“You don’t gotta apologize, Bucky,” Steve sighs, pulling his hand away. “It was a long time ago. But - thanks, anyway. It means a lot.” He takes a deep breath, then he pushes himself up from the bed, moving to set his cup on the nightstand. “I’ll be back in a minute, gotta break the seal.”

Steve ducks into the little bathroom without a backward glance, and Bucky sits up straight, putting his own cup to one side too, so he can bury his face in his hands. He’s torn between wanting to run and never look back, and wanting to pull Steve into his arms and never let him go again. He ain’t gonna do neither, but it doesn’t stop him wanting to. It’s quiet in the motel; he can hear the low hum of a TV in the next room, and a steady string of traffic outside, and over that the sound of Steve taking a leak. Bucky remembers the first time they screwed in a bed, up in the cabin one night when there was a thunderstorm. He remembers Steve pushing him off halfway through, laughing and groaning because he had to pee so bad, cussing viciously with the bathroom door wide open while he tried to force it out despite his hard on. 

When Steve opens the door a minute later, he looks red eyed and lost, but he gives Bucky a half-hearted smile before knocking back his whiskey. “Anywhere around here deliver pizza?” he asks when he’s swallowed. “I’m starvin’.”

**Then**

_You might notice my dishonesty_  
 _Well I'm only twenty-three_  
 _And I'm here_  
 _Waiting all year_  
\- The Staves, Gone Tomorrow

Getting up the next morning is harder than usual, partly ‘cause of his late night, and partly ‘cause when he’s still lying warm in bed, Bucky can easily remember dozing in the back of the truck with Steve, curled tight around one another while they watched the sky slowly rotate above their heads. If the pastor notices he’s late, he doesn’t mention it, at least not directly. He just passes Bucky a thermos of coffee with a warm smile, and tosses him a sandwich that Sarah will have wrapped up for him. 

“You boys are getting on well, huh?” the Pastor says in a conversational tone. “What’d you get up to last night?”

Bucky hesitates a moment. He’s had a smile like sunshine all morning with the memory of last night, and he doesn’t even need to close his eyes to picture the way Steve shook when he came, or the way he looked with his mouth wrapped around Bucky’s dick, moaning almost as loud as when it had been _him_ getting his dick sucked. But it ain’t as if he can come out and say, “Well, sir, your son’s a born cocksucker”, now can he? “He was teachin’ me the constellations,” Bucky says, because at least it’s winking at the truth, even if it ain’t quite close enough to touch.

“Good night for stargazing,” he says in a friendly tone. “He was crazy for astronomy as a kid, his ma and I took him to a planetarium one time, and he cried when we had to go home.”

“He’s a sweet kid,” Bucky says, resolving _never_ to mention that story to Steve, expecting he might get a kick in the ribs for his trouble. “So he ain’t into that anymore?”

The Pastor shrugs, smiling indulgently. “He’s too quick for his own good. Can’t ever settle on one thing, he’s always got his eye open for somethin’ new and shiny. 

Bucky swallows hard and struggles for something to say. “He, uh-”

“Listen,” Rogers says, straightening up suddenly. “Steve - he’s a real good kid, deep down. He don’t have a lot of friends, not really, and he thinks I don’t notice but I do. And I’m real glad he’s got you.”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky mumbles, looking away from him. “I just wanna look out for him.”

“And we appreciate that, me an’ Sarah. He can be pretty-” Rogers hesitates, choosing the word carefully, “-volatile. It makes us both feel better knowin’ someone’s got his back.”

“I can definitely promise you that,” Bucky says, awkwardly, and Rogers laughs and claps him on the shoulder, dissipating some of the tension. 

“Well, enough of that,” he says briskly. “You comin’ the the football game next Friday?”

They go on working in silence after that, and Bucky eats his sandwich and drinks most of his coffee just to keep his mouth and hands busy. He keeps to himself for the rest of the day, feeling awkward and unsure, certain that he’s done the wrong thing. It’s not as hot today, clouded over so there isn’t much sunshine, but it’s still humid and suffocating, and when Bucky’s done in the stables, he goes into the yard to dunk his head under the water pump. The water is frigid, and he gasps when it sluices out over his shoulders, soaking his hair and the back of his t-shirt. He pumps it once more, then he straightens up and pushes his hair back out of his eyes, wipes the water off his face. 

He turns around, and sees Steve standing a few feet away, having just got home from school. He’s clutching at his backpack, knuckles white on the straps, his expression frozen with his mouth half open. 

“Hey there,” Bucky says, a loose smile grabbing at his mouth. He turns fully towards Steve, who just shakes his head and brushes past Bucky with a snarl. 

“Stables, three minutes,” he hisses.

Bucky laughs, turning to watch Steve disappear into the farmhouse, slamming the door behind him. 

Steve’s actually waiting for him when he gets there, and he drags Bucky into one of the empty stalls by his belt. He’s ditched his school bag and changed his shirt, but otherwise he looks like he ran straight here; he’s breathing too hard and his cheeks are red. “You oughta be ashamed,” Steve hisses, throwing his arm around Bucky’s neck and hauling him down to kiss him. “Prancin’ around like you just walked out of a fuckin’ porno.” He bites at Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky gets his arms around Steve with a growl, picking him up and backing him up against the side of the stall. 

“Bad day?” Bucky murmurs, digging his teeth into the side of Steve’s neck. Steve moans loudly, digging his bare heels into Bucky’s thighs, and Bucky shushes him with a laugh. “Keep it down, kiddo.”

“Fuck you,” Steve hisses, grabbing Bucky by his hair and kissing him again, rough and dirty. It’s so unlike the gentleness of last night, it’s like kissing another person entirely, and Bucky really couldn’t say which he prefers. 

Steve’s wriggling too much to keep him propped up against the side of the stall, not to mention they’re more likely to get spotted that way, so Bucky drops him in a pile of straw and hauls his wet shirt off, before crawling over him. “Buck,” Steve whispers, pressing up against him. “Fuck me, please.”

“What’d I say about patience?” Bucky says quietly, reaching around to grab Steve’s ass. He bucks up with a shivery sound, his fingers grabbing at Bucky’s wet hair. “You bring a condom?”

“In my pocket,” Steve hisses, grinding up against Bucky’s belly. “Jesus Christ-”

He’s already starting to sound a little wheezy, and Bucky realizes too late that all the dust in here probably ain’t good for his lungs. He grabs his shirt and lays it out under Steve’s head, ignoring the filthy look it gets him, then reaches into Steve’s pocket for the condom. He comes out with a pot of vaseline too, and he raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Was all I could find in a hurry,” Steve mutters, shrugging at him. 

Laughing softly, Bucky tugs Steve’s shorts and boxers down, and fits the condom on him. Then he slicks up his fingers and swallows Steve’s dick down as he starts to tease over his hole. 

“Aw Jesus Christ,” Steve moans, grabbing Bucky’s shirt and putting it between his teeth. He moans quietly around the material. “Fuck, that feels good - more, _please_.” 

“Keep your voice down,” Bucky says, chuckling low under his breath. “You’re gonna get it, no need to yell the place down.”

Steve groans, and the noise dissolves into a soft whimpering when Bucky twists a finger inside him, and fits the head of Steve’s dick against his soft palate. This time, Steve manages to smother his noises in Bucky’s shirt. Bucky fucks him slowly and steadily on his hand while he sucks Steve gently, wanting to get him off hard, rather than fast. After a couple of minutes he slips in another finger, hooking them around to rub Steve’s prostate. 

“Aw fuck, aw _fuck_ ,” Steve whimpers, rocking between Bucky’s mouth and his hand. “Don’t stop - don’t stop, please, I’m gonna come-”

Bucky sucks him gently through it, and reaches down with his left hand to press it against his own dick, easing the pressure slightly. As soon as Steve's done shaking, he grabs at Bucky's shoulders and pulls him up to lick into his mouth. Bucky lets Steve kiss him sloppily, and paw at him with lazy fingers. 

"Y'gonna fuck me now?" he slurs, slipping his his fingers into Bucky's underwear.

"Nope," Bucky says, giving him a sly grin. Steve's fingers wrap around his cock and he shivers. "Not today."

"Okay," Steve mutters, sliding his fingers into Bucky's wet hair again and _pulling_. "Open your pants."

Bucky does as he asks, surprised to find that he quite enjoys Steve bossing him around. Steve keeps pulling on his hair, keeping his head wrenched back, throat bared, and Bucky swallows a groan when Steve runs the tip of his tongue from his collarbone, over his Adam's apple and up to his chin. “I still got work to do, y’know,” he says quietly, letting out a little gasp when Steve’s hand wraps around his dick. 

“It’ll keep,” Steve mutters, and closes his mouth around Bucky’s Adam’s apple again so he can suck on it. It makes Bucky’s eyes roll back and he shakes with pleasure and pulls Steve closer. “C’mon, Bucky,” he says quietly, moving his mouth up to Bucky’s ear. “I wanna watch you come, want you to shoot it all over me.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Bucky moans, squeezing his eyes shut when he feels himself hit the point of no return. 

“Yeah, that’s it, Buck,” Steve whispers, urging him on while he works his fist between them. “That’s it, lemme see it, make a mess of me, c’mon-”

Bucky lets out a noise like a sob when he comes, shooting over Steve’s fist and jeans, rocking his hips against Steve’s thigh until he’s ready to come down. “Fuck,” he moans, when he can open his eyes again. Steve is watching him with a hazy, pleased expression, and wiping his hand on his own t-shirt. Bucky rolls Steve into his arms and kisses him lazily, stroking through Steve’s damp hair and picking up pieces of straw. 

“I oughta do my homework,” Steve says, smirking against Bucky’s mouth. 

Bucky nods. “Okay.” They start to get up, and Bucky pulls his wet, dirty t-shirt on with a grimace. “Hey,” he says, catching hold of Steve’s wrist. “You okay?”

“Just a rough day at school,” Steve says, shrugging. “I feel a lot better now, thanks.”

“Just part of the service,” Bucky says with a grin. Steve rolls his eyes, and leans in to kiss him quick before darting away, heading back to the farmhouse.

 

 

Over the next week and a half, they spend as much time together as they can manage. Bucky only eats at the farmhouse once or twice, because when he does, Steve spends the whole time flirting with him under his parents’ noses, or trying to touch him under the table. Bucky feels caught halfway between wanting to act like a stupid, lovestruck teenager, and knowing that he ought to behave like an adult and, maybe, not start screwing a minor. But maybe Bucky is just pathetic, because every time he starts thinking that he oughta call a stop to it, Steve just gives him this _smile_ that makes him melt, and Bucky knows he could no more say no to Steve than he could stop the sun going down. 

He gets up later than normal the following Friday, because he and Steve kept each other up too late, the two of them dipping their toes in the pond and shooting the shit about nothing in particular, but it feels nice to indulge himself for once on his day off. He takes the horses out for a ride, staying out for a couple of hours, until his ass is getting sore and the horses are sweating. On his way to change, Mrs Rogers calls to him from the kitchen window of the farmhouse, and he saunters over to her with a smile. 

“Mornin’, ma’am,” he says, grinning as he slings his shirt over his shoulder. 

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Save the flirtin’ for your lady friends, Bucky Barnes,” she says, laughing at him good naturedly. “Are you comin’ to see the game tonight?”

He shrugs. “Hadn’t thought about it, but sure, if I’m invited.”

Truthfully, the last thing he wants to do is go anywhere near Steve’s high school again, let alone the football field, but he can be a grown up about it. If Steve wants to go, Bucky’ll tag along, and he appreciates Sarah going out of her way to include him. “You’re always invited,” she tells him, in a tone that says she doesn’t appreciate him forgetting it. “Now get changed and be back here in thirty minutes, I’ve got cookies in the oven and I need someone to test them for me.”

He laughs and salutes her. “Yes, ma’am!”

Bucky’s expecting Steve to disappear off with his friends before the game, but while he’s helping Sarah perfect her cookies for the match, she goes out to answer a phone call, and comes back with the cordless phone in her hand. 

“It’s Steve,” she says, “he wants to talk to you.”

“Uh, hey,” Bucky says, after taking the phone from her. 

“Hey!” Steve says, laughing. “You wanna go grab coffee with me and Nat before the game?”

Bucky glances over at Sarah. “Hey, you mind if I head into town early?”

She shakes her head. “Not at all, I can run in with John.”

“Alright,” Bucky says, smiling. “Where shall I meet you guys?”

 

 

Bucky spots Steve right away when he walks into the diner, sitting in a booth near the back with his head bent in to gossip with Natasha. He goes up to the counter and orders himself a coffee before he walks over to join them, by which time Natasha has spotted him, even if Steve’s still oblivious.

“Howdy,” Natasha says in an amused drawl, looking up at him. 

Bucky tips an imaginary hat. “Natasha, it’s a pleasure.” 

“Buck!” Steve says excitedly, scooting over to make a space for him. “You don’t mind, right? Natasha really wanted to meet you.”

“We already met,” Natasha says dryly, and Bucky grins. 

“Although we hardly exchanged two words, and I’m happy to know the kind of girl who can put up with _you_ for more than ten minutes.”

“Watch it, Barnes,” Steve mutters, jabbing him with an elbow. Rolling his eyes, Bucky hooks his arm around Steve’s neck and ruffles his hair, while Steve yelps and tries to free himself. They wrestle for a minute, then he looks over and sees Natasha watching them calmly. 

“Well well,” she says, picking up her milkshake and taking a sip. They both turn to look at her, and Steve scrambles out of Bucky’s grasp, but she just smiles and shrugs with one shoulder. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

Bucky smirks at her. “You’re fishin’.”

Natasha looks delighted. “Maybe so,” she says, and jerks her chin in Steve’s direction, “but I can read this one like a book.”

“It’s true,” Steve says, groaning. He leans in against Bucky’s side, pressing against him for a moment, and glances up with a worried expression. “Sorry, I - I know you didn’t wanna tell anyone.” He looks over at Natasha. “Besides, it ain’t like we’re gettin’ married. It’s just foolin’ around, y’know.”

Natasha looks from one to the other of them with a doubtful expression. “Well,” she says dryly. “I guess if that’s all it is, there’s no need to worry.” 

Bucky reaches under the table and puts his hand over Steve’s knee, and Steve leans into him again gratefully. “Well,” Bucky says, in a quiet, teasing voice. “Your pa didn’t seem too bothered about you screwin’ around with his team.”

“Aw, Christ,” Steve moans, covering his face. “We are _not_ goin’ there, not right now.”

Natasha shoots a finger gun at Bucky. “I like you,” she says, grinning. “I like you a lot.”

The football game passes in a daze for Bucky. Even though he and Steve deliberately sit with Natasha between them, he spends the whole thing hyper aware of everything Steve does or says, every little movement he makes. Natasha more or less carries the conversation between the three of them, while he and Steve take it in turns to stare at each dopily over her head. 

By the time it ends, Bucky isn’t even sure who’s won, but it doesn’t matter a bit when they walk down the stands with everyone else, and Steve takes advantage of the crush to take hold of his hand, just for a few seconds. Steve and his ma go off to look for Pastor Rogers, while Bucky chats to Natasha and waits for them to get back. After ten minutes, Natasha spots a friend and goes off to talk to them, while Bucky considers going looking for them. He’s just about made up his mind to head towards the sports hall when he hears something that grabs his attention.

“Back off, faggot!”

“Go to hell!”

Bucky turns his head at the sound of shouting, the hint of a familiar voice, and grimaces when he catches a glimpse of Steve through the crowd, squaring off against a group of meatheads with gleeful expressions. He starts to edge his way through the crush, but they disappear around the corner of the building before he can get to them, and panic seizes Bucky’s guts. 

“Move it!” he yells, shouldering his way past the people crowded around him, talking and laughing as they head for their cars. A few of them shout indignantly as he pushes them out of the way, but Bucky ignores them, racing off in the direction Steve went. He can’t see anyone as he skids around the corner, but he hears raised voices further along, and he runs towards them.

He hears the crack of a punch landing, and the sound of someone spitting blood. “Someone’s gotta teach ya to mind yer own business, Rogers,” one of the guys is saying as Bucky rounds another corner into a small courtyard with picnic tables. “I told you last time, shoulda run back to yer pa.”

“Leave him out of this,” Steve mutters, struggling against the big guys holding him to wipe his mouth on his wrist. He drops it back to his side, and Bucky can see blood on his sleeve. “That girl didn’t want none of yer bullshit, Rumlow.”

To Bucky’s surprise, Steve doesn’t address the guy who punched him, but the one off to the side, sitting casually on top of a table like he’s just here to watch. Rumlow shrugs and smiles a horrible, cruel smile, and Bucky is viciously pleased that none of them have noticed him yet. He strides forward and kicks the two holding Steve’s shoulders in the backs of their knees, sending them straight to the floor, yowling like wet cats. Steve stumbles, and Bucky grabs for him, wrapping his arm around Steve’s shoulders. For a second, Steve struggles, but then he recognizes Bucky and he sags against him with relief. 

“Buck, shit, I thought-”

“Who the fuck are you?” Rumlow snaps, getting down from the table. “This don’t concern you.” He looks furious, and the trigger happy kid comes at Bucky with his fists up. Bucky pushes Steve to the side and swings for the guy, catching him hard on the jaw and sending him crashing into Rumlow. The two of them stagger backwards, colliding with one of the picnic tables and going down in a tangle of limbs and furious shouting. 

“Come on,” Bucky yells, grabbing Steve’s arm and pulling him away. Steve hesitates for a moment, but Bucky keeps on tugging on his arm, and eventually he follows. Once they’re clear, Steve yanks his arm out of Bucky’s grasp, but doesn’t say anything, just follows in silence. When Bucky looks back at him, Steve is wearing a grim expression, made worse by the blood dripping from his nose and mouth, staining the front of his shirt. “Stevie-”

“Shut up,” Steve mutters, looking away. “Let’s get out of here.”

The parking lot has almost cleared out by the time they find the truck. Bucky glances over his shoulder to make sure the dumb fuck bullies haven’t followed them, but there’s no sign of them. He hauls open the passenger side door and hustles Steve inside, then goes around to climb into the driver’s seat. 

“You okay?” he mutters, starting the engine, before reaching over to him. He touches Steve’s arm gently, but Steve wrenches away from him with a scowl.

“The fuck was that?” he snaps. 

Bucky lets his hand fall onto the seat between them. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Steve snorts with derision, turning to look out of the front windshield. “No, dumbass, you didn’t hurt me.” He huffs and glares at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. “Can we just go?”

Shrugging, Bucky puts the car in gear and peels out of the parking lot. They drive along in silence for ten minutes, Bucky hoping every minute that Steve will finally open his mouth and say something, but all he does is continue to scowl out of the window. Eventually Bucky gets sick of waiting, and he pulls over suddenly, turning them into a small farm track and slamming on the brakes. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve asks, looking around. He still has blood all over his face and neck, drying dark on his skin, and Bucky shakes his head in disgust. 

“I ain’t mad at you fer startin’ a fight,” he says, his voice calm and steady, “that’s your choice, and I think you had a good reason.” He takes a breath, and Steve opens his mouth to respond, but Bucky cuts him off. “No, you _listen_. It’s _your_ choice to get yourself in a stupid fight you can’t win, and it’s _my_ choice to wade in and pull you out before there’s nothin’ left to save.”

Steve clenches his fists in his lap. “I don’t need _saving_ ,” he hisses. 

Bucky reaches over and grabs his chin, turning his face toward the light, and reaching up with his other hand to angle the rear view mirror. “No?” he says, pointing Steve’s face at the mirror. “‘Cause it looks to me like they had you licked.”

“Fuck you,” Steve snaps, pulling away from him and kicking open his door. He jumps out, striding off across the dark field, and Bucky swears before going after him.

“Steve!” he yells, picking up his pace when he realizes that Steve has started running. “Stevie!”

If Steve was built for running at all, then it certainly wasn’t for long distance, and he slows after a minute and drops down to his knees in the dirt. Bucky catches up to him and falls down to the ground in front of him. 

“Stevie,” he says urgently, catching Steve’s face between his hands and tilting it up. There are tears streaking down his face, cutting through the dried blood and smearing the mess all over his chin. “Hey, c’mon kitten, tell me what’s wrong.” Bucky leans in, slow at first, and when Steve doesn’t turn away, Bucky kisses him softly. “Stevie,” he whispers, stroking Steve’s jaw gently with his thumbs. He kisses Steve’s cheeks, catching the tears on his lips. “Aw, honey, I’m sorry, I’ve got you now, you’re okay.”

Steve surges forward, throwing his arms around Bucky’s neck and burying his face in his shoulder. “‘m sorry,” Steve sobs, his delicate chest shuddering under Bucky’s hands. “Sorry, Buck, ‘m sorry-”

“Hey, shh,” Bucky whispers, cupping the back of Steve’s head with his right hand and stroking his hair softly. “I gotcha, it’s okay.” He peels Steve back slightly and rubs the tears from under his eyes, then uses his damp thumb to rub away some of the dried blood from around his mouth. “That’s it, sweetheart, you’re safe.” Steve watches him closely, his eyes big and wet, shining in the moonlight, his expression calm and awed. Bucky touches the bridge of Steve’s nose gently with one fingertip. “They ain’t broken it, have they?”

“Don’t think so,” Steve mutters, leaning forward to nuzzle into Bucky’s palm. 

“Good, ‘cause I kinda like it.” Bucky kisses his nose, and Steve tilts his head to fumble their mouths together again. He’s breathless from running, and he tastes bitter from the blood, but it’s the best kiss Bucky’s ever had. Steve makes a desperate noise, shuffling forward into Bucky’s lap, and Bucky moans and hauls him closer, grabbing him so tight he feels Steve’s chest groan in protest. 

“Buck,” Steve whimpers, shivering in his arms, “please - don’t stop kissing me.”

Laughing softly, Bucky runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, and down his spine. “I ain’t gonna stop, kiddo.” He gets slowly to his feet, lifting Steve up with him, wrapping his legs around his waist. It’s a little chilly out, and Steve doesn’t have a jacket, so Bucky carries him back to the truck, pressing soft kisses down his neck and onto his shoulder. By the time they get back to the farm track, Steve is shivering against him in a way that’s got nothing to do with the temperature, and Bucky presses him back against the car door for a minute to kiss him, remembering the first time they did this, pressed up against the truck in the yard outside the farmhouse. 

“Stevie,” he mutters, pushing his face into Steve’s hair and breathing in the familiar scent of him. “Shit, honey, I wanna fuck you so bad.”

Steve moans and tightens his grip on Bucky’s arms. “Yeahhh,” he says, the word coming out on one long breath. 

They get back in the truck, Steve on his back so Bucky can pull up his bloodstained t-shirt and kiss his belly, jacking him off slow and gentle to get him relaxed. There’s lube and condoms in the glovebox - not that Bucky’s been planning exactly this, but he’s getting to know Steve well enough to come _prepared_ \- and he takes his time opening Steve up on two and then three fingers while he blows him. Steve moans and babbles total nonsense at him, holding onto Bucky’s head with both hands and forcing Bucky to go slow. 

Steve’s been teetering on the edge for long minutes, neither of them quite wanting him to come yet, when he finally pushes Bucky away and gets up on his hands and knees.

“Sit your ass down,” he tells Bucky, reaching for his jeans. Bucky laughs and shuffles his pants down, helping Steve onto his lap.

“You sure about this?”

Steve groans. “God, shut the fuck up for once and _screw me_.”

Bucky puts his hands on Steve’s hips, and holds him steady while he grabs Bucky’s dick and slowly sinks himself down on it. His head falls forward, forehead touching Bucky’s shoulder, and he lets out a long, shaky breath when he’s got himself settled. 

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Bucky mutters, sliding his arms up around Steve’s back, cradling him close. “Christ, Stevie, you feel fuckin’ perfect.”

“Yeah,” Steve gasps, “yeah, Buck, _yeah_.”

Bucky turns to kiss the side of Steve’s neck, his jaw, finally finding his mouth and licking more of that coppery taste off his tongue. They sit for a couple of minutes not moving, just relishing in the sensation of being so deep inside each other, then Steve shifts his weight a little and unconsciously squeezes his muscles around Bucky’s dick. 

“Aw _Jesus_ ,” Bucky moans, clutching him tighter. Steve pushes himself up on his knees, using Bucky’s shoulders for leverage, then he sinks down again painfully slowly. The sensation is almost overwhelming, and Bucky buries his teeth in Steve’s shoulder to keep from crying out. When Steve moves again, Bucky lifts him up with his grip on Steve’s body, and helps him to come down slow, _slow_.

“Shit,” Steve moans, shivering in his arms. “Shit, shit, _Bucky_. Bucky, _fuck_ me-”

It breaks the spell, and Bucky puts his hands back on Steve’s hips so he can jerk up against him hard, and Steve puts his hands on the back of the seat so he can shove himself down to meet Bucky’s thrusts. Bucky realizes after a minute that he’s not gonna last long going like that, but Steve doesn’t seem keen to slow down again, so Bucky reaches up to grab one of his hands. He kisses Steve’s fingertips, pulls one finger into his mouth and sucks on it gently just to hear Steve moan, then he pushes it down between their bellies. “Touch yerself, sweetheart,” he says, low and commanding. “Yer gonna come fer me, aintcha pretty boy?”

“Fuck yeah,” Steve moans, his voice breaking high and desperate. “Fuck me, Bucky, fuck me harder - aw jeez, I’m gonna - I wanna come, please fuck me, come inside me-”

Bucky smothers his cries in Steve’s shoulder again, pounding up into him hard and fast as he trembles his way over the edge. Steve goes stiff against him for a few seconds, then he slumps against Bucky’s chest like a rag doll, whimpering as he spills his load over Bucky’s stomach.

“Holy shit,” Bucky whispers, after a couple of minutes of just breathing hard into each other’s space. “I feel like I just got hit by a truck.” 

Steve giggles. “In a good way?”

Bucky reaches up to stroke his hair. “You bet in a good way.” Steve mouths hot and wet against his neck, and Bucky pries him off, laughing. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, nodding. “At least, I think? Do I still have all my limbs? I can’t feel them.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, running his fingers along Steve’s arms, then over his thighs. “All present and correct.”

Steve nuzzles into his neck, making sleepy noises, and Bucky laughs again. “Uh uh, kiddo. We better get home before yer folks send out a search party.”

With a heavy sigh, Steve leans back and looks Bucky in the eye. He wraps his hand around Bucky’s jaw and kisses the corner of his mouth softly. “Thanks, Buck. For that, and - for earlier, too.”

Bucky ruffles his hair. “Forget it.” Steve eases off him with a groan, and Bucky grimaces as he reaches down to pull off the condom. “Shit, we’re gonna have fun sneakin’ in like this.”

Steve shrugs. “I’ll go in by the window.”

For some reason, that strikes Bucky as hilarious, and he bursts out laughing. Steve looks at him for a moment like he’s lost his mind, but he starts smiling too, and a moment later he joins in. Bucky fastens up his pants and shimmies across to the wheel. “Jesus,” he mutters, wiping his eyes. “So much for dating. Turns out I’m just the kinda jerk to screw you in his pickup after all.”

Steve punches his shoulder. “Yeah, well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re that kinda jerk.”

Bucky grins at him. “Me too. C’mon, let’s get home and get you cleaned up.”

 

 

Steve's got plans with his friends the next day, and Bucky heads out around noon to meet Clint. It starts raining about an hour before he’s due to leave, and it only gets heavier, turning the farm track to mud and washing clear the pickup’s dusty windscreen. He drops Steve off at the edge of town near his friend Sam’s house, and Steve jumps out with a flirty wink and a “Seeya later, Buck!”

Clint is waiting for him outside the hardware store, sheltering under the awning from the rain. Bucky doesn’t know the town that well yet, so Clint had suggested meeting there before heading over to his place. He has a big, friendly looking dog with him, who he stows in the flatbed before climbing in the front with Bucky. 

“He alright back there?” Bucky asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s had much worse, believe me. Crazy fucker loves the rain anyway.”

They’ve only hung out a couple of times so far, but Clint is friendly and easy to talk to, and he doesn’t seem to have any kind of expectations or demands on Bucky, which makes it easier. They make idle talk while Clint directs them to his house, although Bucky doesn’t even realize that Clint’s been doing most of the talking until he points it out. 

“Seriously, man, you alright? You’ve barely said two words the whole way over.”

Bucky shrugs before shutting off the engine. “Just preoccupied, I guess.” He smiles involuntarily, thinking of the previous night, but Clint catches it and laughs at him.

“Ohh, I see. Who’s the lucky lady?” He grins, but when Bucky hesitates, his smile falters a little. “Or - lucky dude? Sorry, man, I shouldn’t assume.”

“Don’t matter,” Bucky says, with a smile and a shrug. “Where’s that beer you owe me?”

Clint’s been renovating the house, which his aunt, his only non-carnie relative, left to him a year earlier. He offered to help Bucky with the cabin’s bathroom if Bucky would help him out with some painting and wallpapering in exchange, and Bucky’s more than happy to do it. It’s not as if he minds a bit of hard labor, and this is barely that. Add in the beer and the company and it ain’t really like work at all. 

They put Lucky out to romp around the yard, and Clint fetches them some beers from the fridge while Bucky prises open the tins of paint. “So?” Clint prompts, holding out Bucky’s beer. When he tries to grab it, Clint holds it out of his reach. “Ah ah ah, I want answers first.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “It’s a guy. And no, I ain’t tellin’ you more than that.”

“It ain’t the pastor, is it?” Clint asks, pretending to look scandalized. 

Bucky snorts, getting beer up his nose. “Christ,” he mutters, choking on it. “I almost wish it was for that.”

Clint starts laughing, and Bucky sighs and wipes his eyes. “I mean,” Clint says at last, “you don’t gotta tell me if you don’t wanna, but it don't get much more taboo than a man of the cloth.”

“You’d be surprised,” Bucky mutters, and Clint narrows his eyes. Bucky forces out a heavy sigh and gestures a sign of surrender with his beer bottle. “Fine, fine, but I really ain't just bein' coy here. I - I've got myself into something kinda fucked up.”

“How fucked up are we talkin’?” Clint asks, frowning. “Because if you’re lookin’ fer someone to bail you out, I plead the fifth.”

Bucky grins. “That ain’t how it works.” He shakes his head and reaches up to brush a loose strand of hair off his face. “Anyway, that shouldn’t be a problem. At least, I hope not.”

“Christ, Barnes,” Clint says, groaning. “What did you do? _Who_ did you do?”

Bucky sets his beer down, and rubs his hands over his face with a heavy sigh. “I need a smoke. You don’t mind if I smoke in the yard?”

“It’s still comin’ down out there,” Clint says doubtfully, looking to the window. “But we can sit in the porch, if you want. I found a spot that doesn’t leak.”

He follows Clint downstairs, trying to ignore the dry feeling in his mouth and throat. He hadn’t felt anxious about Natasha knowing, but then Bucky assumes Steve would’ve already told his friends about them. And he knows them well, whereas Clint is still almost a stranger, albeit one who Bucky gets on really well with. Maybe that’s why he’s nervous. He doesn’t have a stake in Natasha’s good opinion, but he doesn’t wanna lose Clint’s. 

“Lucky!” Clint shouts, as he pushes open the screen door. He whistles through his teeth, and Lucky scampers from around the side of the house, shaking water off his fur as he barrels up the porch steps. Clint grabs a towel from the bench on the porch and wraps it around Lucky.

While he’s busy, Bucky pulls his tobacco out of his pocket and starts to roll a cigarette, his shoulders jammed back against the door frame. His hands are shaking a little, and he tries to hide it when Clint glances up at him. 

“Well?”

Bucky snorts, and reaches in his pocket for his lighter. “Fine, fine. You remember Stevie Rogers, the pastor’s boy?”

Clint nods. “Right, the little shit with the reputation.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah.” He flicks the lighter and inhales sharply as he sparks up. 

“Yeah, and?” Clint says, watching him expectantly. Bucky watches him wait a moment, then he sees the awareness catch on Clint’s face. “Aw, hell, Bucky. Tell me you didn’t-”

“He’s real persuasive,” Bucky grumbles, looking away from him. He takes a long drag on his roll up, and when he looks back, Clint is still watching him with a doubtful expression. “Christ, I _know_ , alright? I ain’t proud of myself.”

Clint looks a little sympathetic. “How old is he, Bucky?”

“Few weeks off of eighteen.”

“And you’re, what, twenty-five?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Twenty-three.”

“Oh, well, excuse me, that makes it all better.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky moans, pulling a face. “I tried to say no to him, but - I dunno, Clint, I never felt like this about anybody before.”

Clint smiles sadly. "Fell in love with a preacher's boy, Bucky? That's quite a cliché."

"It ain't-" he stammers, but Clint is still going.

"He feel the same way?"

Bucky shakes his head. "Naw, it ain't like that. He's not settlin' down, it's just a bit of fun."

Clint frowns at him. "You sure on that?" Bucky shrugs. "You ever think about asking?"

 

 

Steve's in the farmhouse kitchen when Bucky gets home. He and Sarah wave from the window, and Bucky laughs and heads over to let himself in by the back door. 

"Just in time," Sarah announces as he walks in. "You can always tell a military man," she says to Steve, nudging him with her elbow. "They always show up right when there's food going."

Steve smothers a snort of laughter against his sleeve. He turns and grins over his shoulder, and Bucky’s breath seizes in his chest for a second at the sight of him. The evening sunlight makes a halo of his hair, and he's got streaks of flour on his face and down his clothes. For a brief moment, Bucky feels overwhelmed by how much he wants Steve, and he squashes the urge to reach out and grab him.

"Hi there," he says, his smile as slow as August. "Can I steal a minute? I gotta borrow a paintbrush."

Steve frowns, but he nods and wipes his hands off on his jeans. "Sure," he says, casual as you like. "I got some things in the shed, want me to show you?" 

“Sure,” Bucky says, nodding, taking a moment to run his eyes over Steve. “I’d like to see.”

Grinning, Steve leads Bucky back out the way he came in, and around side of the house to the tool shed. "So," Steve says when he opens the door. "Paintbrush, huh?"

Bucky shoves him inside, and slams the door behind them before crushing Steve up against the workbench. “Fuck,” he whispers, bending in to lick at the hickey on Steve’s shoulder, just barely covered by his sweater. “Yer so fuckin’ perfect.”

“Sweet talker,” Steve says, rolling his eyes to hide the fact that he’s blushing a little. He has flour streaked in his hair, and Bucky strokes his fingers through his bangs to brush it out, pulling them to one side. Steve looks up at him, and Bucky cups his face gently. “Buck-”

“Shh.” Bucky kisses the top of Steve’s nose, and then the curve of his eyebrow. “I sure got lucky with you,” he whispers. 

Steve glances down again, the blush getting warmer on his cheeks. “I dunno what to do with you, Bucky,” he says awkwardly. “I’m sure glad you like me, but I don’t know why you do.” Steve turns his crooked smile up again, and Bucky finally catches what his brain tried to tell him the moment he walked into that kitchen and saw Steve all lit up in the dying sunlight. What it’s been trying to tell him for days, and he still couldn’t see it until Clint smacked him over the head with it. He’s tits over ass in love.


	5. Chapter 5

**Now**

_Easy come, easy go,_

_Tell me things I want to know._

_Drink until your lips are black,_

_You’ve given things you’ll never get back,_

\- The Staves, Pay us no mind

"So, you you still don't date, huh?"

Steve laughs awkwardly and lifts up his shirt a couple of inches to scratch at his stomach. "Sometimes," he says, giving Bucky his self-conscious half smile. "Only got serious once, apart from you.'

"Oh yeah? What happened?" 

Steve sits on the bed again with a weary sigh. He laughs softly, under his breath. "We got married."

Bucky laughs, but Steve doesn't, and the sound dies in his throat. "Shit, you're serious." Steve nods, and Bucky lets out a low whistle. "Right." He glances down at his drink, and remembers that he's half naked. "So, what the hell is all this?"

Steve frowns. “No, Bucky-”

“It ain’t like I’m hopin’ for anythin’ to happen but wouldn’t yer - yer partner be upset about you gettin’ undressed with an ex-boyfriend in a motel room?” To his surprise, and annoyance, Steve starts laughing. Scowling, Bucky slams his glass down and gets to his feet. “Forget it.”

“Buck-” Steve says quickly, jumping up to intercept him. “Bucky, wait, I said that wrong-”

“Sure, sure,” Bucky mutters, pushing past him to grab his jeans. “I’ve been a dirty little secret before, Rogers, I ain’t doing that again.”

Steve flinches a little at that, but he just sets his expression, and pulls Bucky’s jeans out of his hands. “Goddammit, Bucky Barnes. Would you just listen to me for once in your life?”

Bucky can’t help it; he gets a little involuntary smile at the sight of Steve’s temper flaring. “Fine,” he says, with a shrug. “But you rip those pants, yer buyin’ me a new pair, bigshot.”

“Sorry,” Steve says, blushing a little. He puts them down on the bed. “But I don’t want you to think that about me. Me and Peggy - we ain’t together anymore. We got married right out of college, and we realized pretty quick it wasn’t gonna work." He shrugs. "She moved back to England, I went to Chicago."

Bucky just stares at him for a minute. "Shit, I can't believe I didn't know you got married."

"It really didn't last that long," Steve says, reaching up to brush his fingers through his bangs. "We dated for about a year and a half." He makes a face. "Peggy really saw my worst side, before that, but she helped me through it. And we got together and it was great, except I still had so much shit that she shouldn't have had to deal with."

Bucky tries to look sympathetic. "We've all got shit, Stevie, don't feel bad."

Steve brushes his hair to one side again and smiles crookedly. "Bucky Barnes, barnyard philosopher."

"Watch it," Bucky says, grinning. "There's still time for you to get into a fight before the night's over."

Taking a step closer, Steve looks up at him, all challenge, and raises an eyebrow. "Always did enjoy wrestlin' with you." 

“You ain’t changed after all,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “You still got the worst pick-up lines.” 

Steve laughs at his teasing. “Not about to change what ain’t broke.”

When he looks back at Steve, he’s still smiling, soft and hopeful, and Bucky realizes just how easy it would be, to fall all over again. He clears his throat, turning away to grab his drink. “She must be quite a woman, to even _try_ marryin’ you.”

Steve ducks his head and gives half a shrug. “Best one I ever met.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo.” He offers Steve a smile. “What’d your ma think of her?”

“Oh boy,” Steve says, starting to laugh. “I’m pretty sure they still call each other every week to gossip behind my back.” He shakes his head. “Ma still ain’t forgiven me for gettin’ married without telling her. It was kinda spur of the moment.”

“Sounds like you.”

Steve sits at the edge of the bed, then flops onto his back across the mattress. “God, this is too weird. I feel like I just saw you last week, y’know?”

"Yeah, I know what you mean." 

They sit in silence for a minute, and Bucky realizes all at once how much the whiskey is getting to him. Apparently Steve is feeling it too, because he starts giggling out of nowhere. 

"Aw, man. Remember that hideous orange sundress I bought in the thrift store?" 

Bucky leans back into the pillows with a lazy smile. “How could I forget?” Trouble is, now that Steve’s brought it up, Bucky can’t get the image out of his head. “You were the prettiest thing I ever saw.”

Steve rolls over to look at him. “Bullshit. You never really thought that.”

“Still do,” Bucky says, staring Steve in the eye. “Don’t be a dumbass, Rogers.”

Steve rolls onto his back again with a shrug. He looks like he’s blushing again, but it could just be the whiskey going to his head. “I know we’re not talking about this,” he says in a thoughtful voice, “but you’re pretty much the best lay I ever had. Wasn’t kidding when I said you’d ruined me for other guys.” This time it’s Bucky’s turn to blush, and Steve looks over in time to notice. “Don’t tell me you’re getting shy in your old age, Buck?”

Bucky laughs, and nudges him in the ribs with his foot. “Yeah, you’d like that.” Steve bats him away, and Bucky grins at him. “You’re pretty incredible yerself, kiddo.”

"Yeah, well, I had a lot of practice." He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Jesus, I must be drunker'n I thought, 'cause all I can think of is kissin' you one more time."

Bucky looks over at him, and Steve is looking right back, his eyes very wide a wanting, an expression that Bucky knows far too well. "That prob'ly ain't a good idea."

"Why the hell not?" Steve says, laughing as he rolls over to face Bucky again. "There's nobody waitin' for us, it don't have to mean anythin'."

"No," Bucky growls, looking down at his hands again. "I can't - Steve, you will _always_ mean somethin' to me, you get that? I can't pretend you don't, just for the sake of one last ride around the track."

Steve scrambles to sit up. "Hey, c'mon, that wasn't what I meant." He moves over to crouch beside Bucky on the bed, eyes wide and earnest. Tentatively, he puts a hand on Bucky’s arm. "You mean the world to me, Bucky, you always have."

Bucky can feel Steve’s warm breath on his cheek, can smell the whiskey, the faint smell of sweat on his clothes from travelling all day. He closes his eyes for a moment, listening to Steve breathe. Steve’s fingers curl around his arm, digging in gently, and his hair falls against Bucky’s face. Bucky lets out a sigh. “Stevie,” he whispers. 

There’s a knock on the door, and they both jerk away from one another. 

“Got a pizza for Rogers!”

Steve looks dazed. “Uh, yeah!” he shouts, glancing guiltily at Bucky before scooting away from him. “Just a minute!”

**Then**

_Somethin' so strong shouldn't make me this weak_

_Oh, nothin' 'bout love makes sense_

\- Leann Rimes, Nothin ‘Bout Love Makes Sense

“C’mon, Bucky, _please_ -”

“Dammit, Steve,” Bucky grumbles in useless protest, as Steve drags him into the barn by his collar. “I got work to do.” They’ve been screwing for a few weeks, sneaking around as best they can, but the trouble with Steve is he _lives_ for a challenge, and right now his favorite challenge is getting Bucky to fuck him in the most public place he can manage. 

“It’ll keep for ten minutes,” Steve mutters, hauling Bucky along behind him like a nag on a pony ride. He glances back over his shoulder at Bucky, his tongue coming out to wet his bottom lip. "Or fifteen?" He lets go of Bucky’s shirt and ducks behind a stack of chairs, coming up with the scratchy blanket they normally keep in the pickup.  
"You got five," Bucky tells him, waiting until Steve lays the blanket out, then he lays a hand on the back of Steve's neck and pushes him down to his knees.

Steve gasps and leans back against Bucky's thigh. "Good thing I got slicked up before I come an' fetched you."

"Jesus christ," Bucky moans, sinking to the ground behind him. He bites at Steve's neck while unfastening his shorts, gets one hand around his sweet little prick and the other down the back of them, so he can slip his thumb into Steve's crack, rub over his hole. 

Steve moans and goes loose against him, and Bucky gets hard fast when he finds Steve just as slick as he promised, thumb slipping in without a hitch. "Jesus, Mary 'n Joseph," he mutters, letting go of Steve's dick to pull his shorts down to his knees. "You beautiful boy."

"Time's a wastin', farmboy," Steve says in a husky voice, grinding back against Bucky's hand. 

Bucky stretches Steve a little more just for the pleasure of feeling him, gnawing at his shoulder and his neck, until Steve shudders and swats at his arm. "Get inside me, Buck, goddamn you. I can take it."

He doesn't need more encouragement than that, and he lets his jeans down just enough that he can get a condom on and slip his dick into Steve easy as you like.

"Ohhh, _Bucky_ ," Steve moans, low and grateful. Bucky shuts his eyes. It's always just a little too much, getting inside Steve, makes it feel like he can't quite think properly, and all kinds of dumb things pop into his head. He remembers thinkin' at first that Steve must take sex for granted, the amount he had it, but that ain't it at all. He just knows what he likes and how to enjoy it. It makes Bucky a little awed. 

"This ain't a first dance, Buck," Steve gasps. "You wanna hurry things up?"

Bucky growls and hauls Steve back against his chest, bringing his weight backwards while he snaps his own hips forward. Steve moans, and Bucky shoves his fingers in Steve's mouth to shut him up. They fuck like that for a couple more minutes, stiff and uncomfortable and hot as hell, trying not to make too much noise. Bucky doesn’t care for once how quick he's gonna finish, because he’s starting to love quick and dirty with Steve, almost as much as he loves it when they sneak off and take their time undoing one another. Steve whimpers and Bucky tips him forwards onto his hands and knees, covering Steve’s body with his own and pushes into him with long, forceful strokes. 

He’s not sure what order it happens in, but Bucky thrusts in extra hard and Steve bites down on his fingers, so that Bucky yanks them out of his mouth with a yelp and Steve moans long and loud. Bucky clamps his hand back over Steve’s mouth quick, but it ain’t quick enough, ‘cause not a minute later he hears footsteps outside the barn, then the creak of the door. 

“Steve? Is that you?”

They both freeze. It’s the pastor, and he’s less than eight feet away by the sounds of it. Bucky’s still buried to the balls inside Steve, his breath held so tight, his chest feels like a tire pumped too full. He can feel Steve trembling underneath him, and Bucky starts to panic that he’s just gonna slip right out and make some kind of incriminating sound, because the terror has gone right to his dick and he can feel his erection surrendering at the idea of being caught. 

“Steve! You about? Bucky?” 

Steve’s pa moves away from them, but he’s still in the barn; Bucky can hear him moving things around on the other side, muttering to himself. And then, just as Bucky’s starting to reconsider his position on God, Steve, the little _shit_ , clenches his muscles hard around Bucky’s dick. Bucky swallows back a startled sound, and digs his teeth into the back of Steve’s shoulder. Once could be an accident, but then he does it again, and again, muscles pulsing around Bucky like a heartbeat.

“What’re you _doin_ ’?” Bucky hisses under his breath. He can hear Pastor Rogers humming under his breath, and Bucky’s getting harder than ever. 

“Promised you’d fuck me,” Steve whispers, moving against him ever so slightly. “So fuck me.”

Bucky stifles a groan, pushing his forehead against Steve’s back as he rocks against him, slow and gentle, but almost hotter than it was before. He doesn’t know if it’s the adrenaline, the awareness that they might get discovered any second, but he feels about ready to pop. Steve’s still trembling against him, even more than before, and Bucky can feel his breathing get wet and labored, skinny chest shuddering in Bucky’s arms. 

“Yer gonna get us both killed,” Bucky murmurs, inching up to press his mouth against Steve’s sweaty hairline. 

“Don’t stop,” Steve breathes, “don’t stop or I’ll die-”

“Lyin’s a sin, Stevie.”

There’s a clatter of wooden chairs falling down, and they both flinch, Bucky slamming in hard enough to make Steve whimper. Luckily it’s covered by the sound of Pastor Rogers cussing mildly, but Bucky’s taking no chances. He covers Steve’s mouth again, trying to ignore the way it sends a shiver right through Steve’s body, and he pushes back harder, wriggling to get it. 

“I’m gonna kill you myself if we get through this,” Bucky hisses, still fucking into Steve as slow as he can bear. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, if your pa walks out of here right now without getting an eyeful, I swear I’ll show up for sermons every Sunday from now on.”

Steve shivers again, but this time he’s trying to hold in laughter, and Bucky wants so bad to slap his skinny little ass for that, but it’s gonna have to wait until they’re well out of earshot. 

“John! I need a hand with something!” 

Even Steve goes still at the sound of his ma’s voice, but they both let loose the breaths they’re holding when they hear Steve’s pa shout back, and head out of the barn to meet her. As soon as Bucky’s sure they’ve headed away towards the house, he grabs Steve and flips him onto his back. 

“You little shit,” he mutters, hooking his arms under Steve’s knees and dragging them up to his chest. “You’re dumber than a box of hair-”

“I wish Pa could’ve heard how hard you prayed then, Buck,” Steve muttered, giggling. “He’d know there was hope for you after all.”

Bucky growls and grabs Steve’s bottom lip between his teeth while he shoves back inside him, rough and dirty. “All you should be hopin’ for is that I even let you come after that little performance.” He groans and pulls back before shoving in again, harder than before, desperate now to come apart inside Steve, to get away from here before they really do get caught. 

“Yeah Bucky, c'mon,” Steve moans, reaching up to tug at his hair. “Be a good soul, screw me hard enough to drive the devil right outta me-”

“Oh Jesus - Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Steve,” Bucky groans when he starts to crash, torn between laughing and crying. His orgasm pours through him, molten and heavy, and he barely even feels Steve pulling at him until his face is pressed into the hot, damp skin of Steve’s neck, breathing hard against his throat. He realizes that Steve’s hand is trapped between them, a loose fist on his dick, and Bucky pushes himself up as soon as he’s got the strength to move. “Exorcism by sex, Stevie?” he mutters, looking Steve in the eye as he crawls down his body. He laps his tongue over Steve’s nipple, and into his belly button, listening to him whine in response. “You’re all kinds of blasphemous today.” 

“Y’mean-” Steve gasps out, “y’don’t think - fuckin’ me is - oh, god-” as Bucky’s tongue flirts with the tip of his prick, “-a religious experience?”

Bucky laughs, because if anything could convert him, it's the way it felt when he was finally able to come. Maybe there is a higher power if being inside Steve can feel that good. “Shut the hell up,” he mutters, before taking Steve’s prick in his mouth. 

 

 

Steve insists on accompanying him to town a few days later, which Bucky only minds because these days it’s torture to be around Steve and other people at the same time, wanting to touch him and kiss him all the time and knowing they’ve gotta keep it quiet. They’re out on the highway when Steve sits up in his seat and kicks the radio into silence. 

“Why don’t we keep drivin’?”

“Huh?” Bucky turns to look at him. “Whadda ya mean?”

“Just - keep goin’ a bit. A few towns over, where we don’t know nobody.”

Bucky grins. “Y’wanna hold my hand in public, darlin’?”

“That ain’t all I wanna hold in public,” Steve shoots back, raising an eyebrow, “but it’ll do for a start.”

Bucky obliges him, because there’s plenty of gas in the tank, and the truth is, he feels like a change of scenery himself. Fun as it might be, sneaking around gets a little tiring, and he’d like to feel like he could put his arm around Steve without worrying who might see. It doesn’t matter that he likely won’t, that they’d have to head to the city to feel safe doing whatever they liked in public, but it’ll be good to get away from prying eyes.

Steve puts the radio back on and hums along, feet propped up on the dash again. The wind through the open window tosses his hair across his face, blowing it into his eyes, and every few minutes Bucky will catch the movement of him pushing his bangs back in place. They drive about an hour away, chatting a little about books and music, and arguing goodnaturedly about Steve’s parents. Bucky won’t hear a bad word against them, not after they took him in and all he does is repay them by screwing around with their son, whereas all Steve can see is their faults. 

“They just - they don’t care that there’s a whole world out there,” Steve says, sighing back into his seat. “To them, it’s just - the farm, and the flock. And football, ugh.” He pulls a face, and turns to stare out of the open window. 

Bucky tightens his hands on the wheel, because he agrees, he _does_ , but he doesn’t feel Steve’s burning need to get out there and _do_ something about it, even if he respects the hell out of it. “It ain’t their fault, Stevie,” he says, calm and quiet. “People just-”

“I don’t care, Bucky,” Steve snaps. “Don’t - don’t try an’ _reason_ with me, jeez. If I wanna be pissed at my parents, I’ll be fuckin’ pissed.”

Bucky doesn’t reply, as there’s clearly nothing worth him saying to that. He reaches over to kick up the volume on the radio. They both sit in silence for two crappy rock songs, then Steve switches it off again.

“Buck?”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m an asshole.”

Bucky knows it’s an apology if he wants to take it. Steve ain’t good at apologies. Bucky sets his left hand on top of the wheel and turns his right hand palm up between them on the seat, and a moment later Steve wraps their fingers together. 

When they finally reach where they’re going and Bucky’s found somewhere to park the truck, Steve shuffles across the front seat and turns Bucky’s head to kiss him. He doesn’t linger, keeps it short and sweet, but his hand creeps onto Bucky’s thigh and squeezes. “Can I collect on that later?”

“After you do your homework,” Bucky teases, and pinches the soft skin on the inside of his upper arm gently. 

Steve scrambles away from him with a yelp. “Dammit, Buck!” 

“C’mon,” Bucky says, shouldering open the driver’s side door. “I got some things to pick up, then maybe we can grab somethin’ to eat.”

“I got some stuff to pick up too,” Steve says, looking furtive. “Can we maybe meet back in an hour?”

Bucky shrugs. “If you want.” 

They part with a wave and a promise to be back at the truck in an hour’s time. Bucky doesn’t have much to do, so after he picks up the things he needs at the hardware store, and stocks up on condoms and lube at a pharmacy where the staff don’t recognize him, he takes a wander around the familiar-yet-unfamiliar streets. Every town around here looks the same, and he remembers being a kid, dragged from one army base to the next, and all the exciting places he half-glimpsed on the way. He thought, when he left home, he’d finally get to see something a little different, but all he’s really done is drift one from lazy, bumfuck town to the next. 

Bucky makes it back to the truck with fifteen minutes to spare, a couple of sodas warming on the hot roof, but Steve shows up not long after. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Bucky says, grinning and reaching out for him.

Steve trips into his arms for a brief hug before he dances out of reach, swinging a bag behind his back. “You hungry?”

“You got no idea.” Bucky lets his gaze fall over Steve’s body, from the long line of his neck, down his sweet, skinny chest to his slender hips and legs. “I’m starvin’, sugar.”

“Well there ain’t nothin’ for you right here,” Steve says, sticking his tongue out. He reaches past Bucky to open the door and shove his bag in the footwell, careful to keep the contents hidden.

“You been treatin’ yerself?” he teases. “Early birthday present?”

Steve shrugs and slams the door again. “Saw somethin’ in the thrift store I thought Natasha might like, that’s all.” He grabs Bucky’s arm, tugging him away from the truck. “C’mon, I’m dyin’, let’s eat.”

 

 

Thing is, it never comes as a shock when Steve lies about something small. When it’s something important, he’s honest as the day is long, but Steve’s the master of the little white lie. Bucky tries not to think too hard about whether or not that means _he’s_ not important, if Steve manages to keep it hidden right under his parents’ noses. 

But it really ain’t a shock when Bucky asks where in the hell Steve even _bought_ the damn thing, and he says it was in the bag from the thrift store. No, the shock is Bucky waking up from a nap under a tree and finding Steve standing not three feet away, toeing at the dirt in his ragged sneakers, the rest of him wrapped in the ugliest dress Bucky’s ever seen. He keeps looking up, and finds Steve’s nervous expression is half hidden by a long blonde wig.

“Stevie?” he murmurs, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “You know you’re too early for Halloween, right?”

“Screw you, dumbass,” Steve says, dropping down beside him in the grass. “I, uh - thought maybe if everyone thinks you’re sneakin’ around with a girl, we don’t hafta be so careful around here?”

Bucky feels his grin go stupid, and it’s all he can do not to laugh but he manages to swallow it down. “Y’don’t think someone might notice you slippin’ in and out of your room lookin’ like Alice in Wonderland?”

Steve shrugs, looking down at his hands. He plucks a long strand of grass and twists it between his fingers. “Guess it was stupid.”

“Stupid my ass,” Bucky says, rolling closer to him and putting his hand over Steve’s. “You look sweet as a peach.”

“I know I don’t,” Steve mutters, still staring down at his lap. “But, thanks - for not laughin’ at me.” 

For once, Bucky can feel proud of doing something right, even if it was just not being a jackass. “Whatcha wearin’ under there anyways?” he asks, sliding his fingers down to touch the hem of Steve’s dress where it sits, thoughtlessly rucked up over his thigh. “You get some pretty panties to match?”

Steve huffs in amusement, and his mouth makes a wry, self-deprecating smile. “Nah, still got my shorts on.”

For some reason that sets a hook in Bucky’s belly, twinging at the thought of Steve still wearing his regular underwear under the skirt. His fingers twitch on the hem, and he wraps them around Steve’s bare knee. “Can I - take a look?”

“Really?” Steve looks down at him, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Yer makin’ fun.”

Bucky shakes his head, slips his fingers half an inch up Steve’s thigh. “‘m not, I swear.” He licks his lips, and watches Steve trace the movement with his eyes. “It’s - it’s kinda hot, Stevie.”

Steve swallows, and his tongue comes out to wet his bottom lip. “Y - yeah?”

“You’ll let me?” Bucky whispers, already sliding his hand up underneath Steve’s skirt. The dress really is ugly as sin, fitting in all the wrong places, and a nasty shade of orange that doesn’t suit him at all, but the way he shivers and lies back on the ground when Bucky moves to lie beside him is hot as hell. He slides his fingers up the inside of Steve’s left thigh, and smiles when he hears Steve’s breath catch in his throat. “Y’better not think about shaving these pretty gams,” he says, and his smile gets wider when he finds the line of elastic on Steve’s boxers. 

“Wasn’t gonna,” Steve mutters, sounding mutinous and breathless at the same time. 

Bucky nods. “Good, ‘cause I like ‘em this way.” He still has his hand up under Steve’s skirt, and he rubs the heel of his palm over Steve’s prick. It’s soft, but quickly starts to firm up under his touch, and Steve’s breath jumps. 

“You - you do?”

“Don’t hold with all that nonsense about shavin’ it off,” he murmurs, moving around so he can nuzzle at Steve’s thigh. He looks up and winks. “Why would God give us hair if it wasn’t s’posed to be there.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I hate it when you make _God_ arguments.”

“I know.”

He keeps on rubbing Steve through his underwear, and Steve gasps and paws at his shoulders. "Buck - Bucky, kiss me please?"

"I guess since you asked so nice," Bucky mutters, rolling over on top of him. Steve squeaks in surprise, and his thigh comes up to trap Bucky in against him. His mouth is already open and waiting when Bucky kisses him, wasting no time on niceties before he slips his tongue in to touch Steve's. Moaning softly, Steve pushes his hips up, and Bucky grinds down against him. He slides his hand up under Steve's skirt again, lifting his weight a little so he can push the dress up around Steve's waist.

"Bucky," Steve moans, tipping his head back and baring his throat like a dog submitting. Bucky takes the chance to run his tongue from the top of Steve's sternum, up his throat to the point of his chin.

"Yer goddamn gorgeous," Bucky whispers, as Steve's eyes flutter closed. He knots his fingers in Bucky's hair, pulling his ponytail out so his hair falls loose around his neck.

"Like this?" Steve mutters, grinding up against him again.

Bucky tuts. "Like always. Prettiest thing I ever seen."

Steve laughs, soft and a little out of breath. "Whatcha gonna do about that?"

"Mm, I was thinking I'd turn you over and eat you out until you cry for me to stop."

"Not – not a chance," Steve gasps.

It's exactly the kind of thing Bucky loves about Steve; his willingness, even his _need_ to face a challenge. Bucky's starting to think Steve goes hunting for 'em just so he can prove to himself he can do it. He pushes himself up on one hand, rolling to the side, and runs the other one possessively down Steve's body, feeling his meager curves through the grubby material of the dress. "Turn over, sweetheart. Let's find out."

Nodding, Steve wriggles underneath him and rolls onto his belly. Bucky moves over him, a low hum rubbing the back of his throat as he flattens his palm over the small of Steve's back, then pulls the dress up a little higher to show off his cute little ass. Steve lets out a needy sound, moving his hips to seek some friction. Bucky grabs hold of them and hauls his ass up into the air, setting him on his elbows and knees.

"Shit-" Steve gasps. He reaches back to tuck the long hair of his wig over to one side of his neck so he can look over his shoulder. "Jesus Christ, Buck-"

Bucky crouches behind him, putting his hands either side of Steve's ass, squeezing it between his palms. Laughing, Steve pushes back against him, and Bucky's hand moves before really means to do it. His palm comes down on the outside of Steve's thigh with a loud _smack_ , and Steve cries out, sharp and high-pitched.

"Wha – what was that for?" he mutters, turning wide eyes on Bucky.

"Why, you like it?"

Steve nods, biting his lip, and Bucky feels a thrill of something new surge through him. "Well, maybe if you're real good, I'll do it again."

"O – okay."

It's not as hot today, but it's still pretty warm for April, and Steve's underwear is slightly damp with sweat between his thighs. Bucky pushes his hand between them, making Steve spread his knees, and then moves his hand up to rub one knuckle into Steve's crack. The damp cotton makes it feel almost like a girl, wet and waiting for his fingers, except for Steve's deep-throated groan underneath him. 

“Get inside me, Bucky, _please_ -”

Bucky digs in with his thumb, pushing at Steve's hole through his underwear, rubbing over it soft at first, then again a little harder. Steve moans, not the slightest bit concerned about the noise he's making, and he reaches back with one hand to tug helplessly at his underwear. "Get them off, please," he gasps, "get them _off_."

There's no use making him wait, not when he's strung out this far already, and Bucky peels Steve's underwear down quickly, waiting for him to shuffle his knees out one at a time, then tossing it over his shoulder. Steve's almost shaking in front of him, cheek pressed to the ground while his back curves up like a cat arched to stretch. Bucky sucks his thumb into his mouth, getting it good and wet, before he pushes in at Steve's ass again, smirking when he feels the pull of muscle resisting him.

"Let me in, darlin'," he coos, stroking his hand up and down Steve's trembling thigh. "Wanna treat you right."

Steve chokes on a wretched, beautiful noise, almost like a sob. Bucky ducks in close so he can work his tongue from where his thumb presses in, right up to Steve's tailbone. His skin is damp and salty, and Bucky can't help but moan at the ripe smell of his skin, how he tastes good and honest and dirty, how he stinks like a _man_ , for all that he might be prettied up in his dress. He pulls his thumb out and wipes it on his jeans, then he parts Steve's cheeks and rubs his lips over the tender pink skin he's exposed. 

"Bucky," Steve whines, tensing up. Bucky can feel him struggling not to move. “Bucky, Bucky c’mon, I want your mouth on me, I want it, you give it to me so good, baby, oh God-”

Bucky has to pull away when he starts laughing, and Steve makes a tortured sound of indignation. “Hey!”

“Please,” Bucky says, snorting at Steve’s furious expression, “not ‘baby’, anything but that.”

To his delight, Steve does look chagrined, and he nods awkwardly. “Sorry.”

Bucky comes back to cover Steve up with his body, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist. “Don’t apologize, you didn’t know.” He leans back, runs his hands down Steve’s thighs, considering. “I think maybe you’d look just as good on yer back, whadda ya think of that? Hitch up your knees, stick my tongue in you, like a real girl-”

Steve whimpers, pushing back into his hands again. “Yeah, Bucky, _hell_ yeah-”

“C’mon then.”

Steve scrambles to turn over again, long hair fanning out around him in the grass. The front of his dress is dirty, and there’s mud on his face, but he doesn’t seem the slightest bit concerned about it. Bucky grabs him by the backs of his knees, which are wet with sweat, and pushes them up, rolling his thighs against his belly. He sprawls down on his stomach, holding Steve’s thighs up to keep him spread open. “Tell me how ya want it,” he mutters, before leaning in and rubbing his mouth over the sensitive flesh again.

Steve moans and twitches in his grip, but he doesn’t struggle. There isn’t much of anywhere for him to go now even if he wanted to. Bucky spares him a small, careful lick right over his hole, but he doesn’t linger. He wants to tease it out, same way he would if he was doing this with a girl. They tend to rush through this most of the time out of necessity, and even if Steve’s disguise isn’t all that convincing, it’s enough of an excuse that Bucky’s gonna take his time for a change. He makes little circles with his tongue, uses his lips and teeth, as gentle as he can, until Steve is shuddering and practically sobbing. He stutters out the occasional instruction but they’re all an incoherent mess of _more_ and _fuck me_ and _god-fuckin’-damn it, Buck, put it in me already_.

Bucky pulls back a little and slips his thumb back in, easy now that Steve is warm and relaxed. Steve looks totally wrecked; he’s pulled his wig off so he can twist his fingers in his hair, and the dress is bunched up around his waist, folds of it covering his prick which must be aching for a fist by now. “Doncha wanna touch yerself?” Bucky murmurs, nudging the skirt aside with his nose so that he can get at Steve’s prick, drag his tongue along it from base to tip. “Mm, sugar you taste so sweet.”

The noise Steve lets out this time is definitely a sob, and one of his hands comes down to clutch at Bucky’s hair. “Fuckin’ - don’ stop, please, Buck, don’t stop-” 

Steve uses his grip on Bucky to push his head back down again, and Bucky goes willingly. He fucks his hand against Steve’s ass a couple of times before pulling out and going in with his tongue again, more forceful this time. He meant it when he said he wanted Steve to cry, and if not today, he’s gonna make it his goal another time. 

Steve's legs are shaking hard now under his hands, and his hole twitches like it's surprised when Bucky laps over it a few times before pushing the tip of his tongue inside. Distantly he's aware of Steve breathing, chest heaving and his voice gone dry and desperate, but Bucky's focused down to the slip of Steve's thighs against his palms, the hot, needy pull and push of Steve's ass around his tongue, and his own hard on pressing painfully against the front of his jeans where he's sprawled on the ground. Each time he pulls his tongue free it feels like Steve's muscles are trying to grasp hold of him, to keep it inside, and the feeling is electric, makes him go back again and again for more while Steve shakes and _shakes_. 

"I - I gotta-" Steve is babbling, cursing and moaning and begging for this, that and the other, but when he starts this time it feels different. He's looking for permission. Bucky slips his tongue free again and rubs over the spit-wet skin all around Steve's hole. 

"Go on, cute stuff," he drawls, his tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth. "Touch yerself, lemme hear ya go wild, huh?"

Steve doesn't need telling twice; he drags his skirt up out of the way and wraps both hands around his dick, surging up into his own touch keenly. Bucky drops back down between his legs, but he makes sure that he has a good view of Steve's fists moving, of the purplish head disappearing between his fingers and peeking out again every few seconds. He stretches Steve open with his thumb and breathes hot air gently over it, letting himself smirk at the helpless cry that spills out of Steve's mouth, then he plunges his tongue back inside. 

"God," Steve moans, "Bucky, don't - it's too much, it's too _much_ -"

Bucky chuckles and laps his tongue over the edge of Steve’s hole, then wider, licking from his tailbone right up to his balls. He sucks his middle finger, then pushes it inside, first just to the second knuckle and out again, then all the way in. Steve clenches around his finger, and he sobs again while his hands work frantically. Bucky sucks at the taut skin of Steve’s taint, feeling him draw up real tight, his whole body tensing. 

“Bucky,” Steve whines, “my - my-”

“Yer what, Stevie?” Bucky mutters, scraping his cheek against Steve’s thigh.

“God, fuck - my, my balls, suck on ‘em, please?”

Bucky’s a little surprised, because Steve hasn’t asked for that before and Bucky’s not a fan himself, but if he wants it, he can have it. He pushes Steve’s hands out of the way to a dire sound of protest, and replaces them with his own left hand. Steve’s prick is hot and stiff between his fingers, jumping in his grasp. He opens his palm and licks up Steve’s length just to hear him laugh, breathless and desperate, before he drops his mouth to suck one of Steve’s balls into his mouth. He closes his fist again and jerks Steve smooth and even, coaxing him all the way to the edge. 

Steve cries out and plants his heels in the dirt, driving his hips up against Bucky’s hand a dozen times, before he suddenly stops, almost silent for the first time since they started. He’s always so quiet when he comes, compared to how much noise he makes during. Bucky works him through it, letting his touch go gentle while Steve keeps on shuddering long after he’s done spilling himself all over Bucky’s hand and his own belly. The dress is a lost cause. 

Pushing himself up, Bucky wipes his hands on his jeans again - they already need a wash, there’s no harm makin’ em worse - and crawls up to lie beside Steve. “Buck,” Steve whispers, turning his face into the crook of Bucky’s armpit. “That was - that was a fuckin’ dream.”

Bucky pushes his fingers through Steve’s sweaty hair, wraps his arm around to pull him in close, for all that they’re both too hot and sticky to cuddle. “Well, I dunno that it’s really gonna fool anyone,” Bucky says, considering, “but I wouldn’t mind tryin’ that again.”

Steve giggles sleepily. “Yeah.” He moves his hips slightly, pushing forward against Bucky. “Y’wanna fuck me?”

“Maybe not here,” Bucky says, smiling into his hair. “Think maybe we exposed ourselves in public enough already this week.” He rolls away and climbs to his feet, reaching down for Steve’s hands. “C’mon, kitten, let’s find somewhere a little more private.”

Steve smiles up at him, his face blissed out and his eyes half shut. He raises his arms, like a kid wanting to be picked up, and Bucky grabs his wrists and hauls him upright. When Steve gets on his feet, he leans into Bucky’s side, limp as a ragdoll. “Y’did me good, Buck,” he mumbles. “Gonna need a little recovery time.”

Bucky ruffles his hair, then reaches down to pick the wig up out of the dirt. “Don’t forget your hair, princess.” As he stands up, he notices the grass stains all down Steve’s back, and he brushes some of the dirt off his shoulders. “I think you and I need a wash, and the less said about this frock of yers, the better.”

 

 

It’s a Sunday evening, and they’re lying in the grass up near the pond, out of sight of the farmhouse. Steve is lying with his head in Bucky’s lap, working through his homework for his history class. His teacher’s been threatening them with a quiz, and Bucky’s promised to test him once he’s done with his notes. 

“Christ,” Steve groans, blowing air out harshly. “I wish the semester was over already.”

With a lazy smile, Bucky reaches up to run his fingers through Steve’s hair, soothing him gently. “Got somethin’ to look forward to?”

Steve shrugs. “My birthday, I guess.”

“Yer birthday’s comin’ up?” Bucky asks, surprised. “You never said.”

“Yeah, well, don’t worry about forgettin’ it,” Steve says, sounding annoyed. He looks up at Bucky with a mean smile. “It’s the fourth of July.”

Bucky grins at him. “Yer kiddin’.”

“Nope.”

“Well,” Bucky says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind Steve’s ear and stroking the side of his face. “I’ll have to think of somethin’ special for ya.”

“Don’t you dare,” Steve says, groaning. “Unless it’s to spend all night screwin’ me with the law on yer side. That, I might allow.” Bucky laughs loudly, and Steve grins at him. “Don’t think I’m kiddin’, neither.”

“Yeah, well, worry about that later,” Bucky says, recognizing the look in Steve’s eye. “C’mon, I’ve still gotta test you. If you get all the answers right, I’ll suck you off.”

Nodding eagerly, Steve goes back to his homework, and Bucky shuts his eyes and lets himself drift. He doesn’t quite sleep, but he dozes for a little while in the lingering warmth of the afternoon, focusing on the weight of Steve’s head and shoulders propped up against him. Steve nudges him awake after a little while, and Bucky sits up, stretching. 

“I was thinkin’,” he says sleepily, while Steve messes around with his textbook. “Ain’t you worried about goin’ to hell or anythin’, with all this sinnin’ we’ve been doing?”

Steve looks up at him, a strange expression caught on his face like he isn’t quite sure whether to laugh or not. “What? Are you - is that a real question?” Bucky shrugs, and Steve’s face gets hard. “Bucky, what the hell?”

“I - it’s just a question, kiddo,” Bucky says, making a face. “I dunno, I just thought about it is all. Forget it if you want.”

“Oh no,” Steve says quickly, turning to face him properly. “I wanna hear this. Do you think i would honestly do this if I believed it was wrong? Do you really believe I’d do _anything_ I honestly thought was wrong?”

Bucky winces. “No, Stevie, ‘course not. I didn’t mean - I guess I just don’t know what you’re doin’ with me, is all. But if you say it’s what you want, that’s fine with me.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, his voice getting quiet. “Do _you_ think this is wrong?” Bucky shakes his head quickly, but Steve keeps on talking before he can interrupt. “Bucky, please, tell me that's not what you really think? Are you ashamed to do this with me? You think this is a sin?”

Bucky reaches out and grabs his shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. “No, hell no. You know I don’t give a shit about any of that, Stevie. You’re the church boy here, I was just sayin’-”

“Well _don’t_ ,” Steve snaps. “Don’t say it again, y’hear? God, fuck you, Bucky. It’s up to me to worry about that shit, so fuck you, okay? That isn't okay.”

“Hey, shh,” Bucky whispers, gently pulling Steve into his arms. He resists for a second, but then he sighs and relaxes against Bucky. “I didn’t mean no harm by it. Just - y'know, if you didn’t wanna give up your, uh, slot in heaven, for my sake, then I was just gonna tell you ain't no hard feelings or nothin’.”

Steve snorts with laughter. “Jesus Christ, Buck. Sometimes I don't know whether to kiss you or hit you in the mouth. I don't give a shit about any kinda heaven that wouldn't let us in together, don't be a stupid son of a bitch.”

“You sentimental lil jerk,” Bucky mutters fondly, pulling back from him with a shy smile. He touches Steve’s mouth with the pad of his thumb, cupping his cheek gently. “C’mon,” he says in a low voice. “Let’s get this test over and get on with workin’ out all the ways we can get ourselves condemned."

“Sounds good to me.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do take a look at the tags, as they've changed for this chapter. Thanks for taking this ride with me, lovelies :3

**Now**

_'Cause this is torturous electricity_  
Between both of us and this is  
Dangerous 'cause I want you so much  
But I hate your guts 

\- Daughter, Landfill

Steve is warm and friendly with the girl who brings them the pizza, tipping her way too much before bringing the boxes over and sitting crosslegged at the end the bed. The opposite end from Bucky.

“Steve-”

“Hope you’re hungry,” Steve says, flipping open the boxes without looking at him. “I asked for extra ham, no pineapple. Hope you didn’t think I forgot.”

Bucky sighs. “Stevie.”

Steve shuts his eyes for a second. “Bucky, don’t. I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t being fair.” He pushes one of the pizza boxes towards Bucky. “Here, have some.”

With one eye on Steve, Bucky reaches out to help himself to some pizza. The two of them eat in silence for a minute, and Bucky realizes just how hungry he is. He knows Steve is working himself up to say something; he recognizes the look, so he just eats and waits patiently for Steve to be ready. Whatever it is, he probably deserves it. 

“Bucky?” Steve says at last, when he’s demolished half a dozen slices. 

“Yeah?”

“I was just - nah, forget it.”

Buck puts down the half eaten slice of pizza in his hands, setting it down in the box and pushing it to one side. “What is it, kiddo?”

Steve ain’t looking at him, looking pretty much anywhere else in the room except for at him. He’s hunched in on himself, fingers twisting together in his lap. “I just thought-” Steve grimaces, and looks up at Bucky, pushing himself through the rest of it. “You wanna come home with me?”

“What?” Bucky says, staring at him. 

Steve blushes. “I don’t mean - it’s just, I know Ma would kill me if I said I’d seen you an’ I didn’t try to bring you back with me. Even just to say hey. You don’t have to come to the funeral.” He pulls a face. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

For a moment, Bucky feels his guts twist with excitement, anticipation, but he pushes it down. Steve’s just being polite, and Bucky clears his throat awkwardly. “I - I don’t know that I’d be welcome.”

“Why not?” Steve asks, looking surprised. But there’s an edge, there’s a hint of that other question in his expression. He wants to know. He wants to know why Bucky hasn’t told him yet. “Ma loves you, Bucky, she was always crazy about you.” He shakes his head, drops his gaze to examine his fingernails. “She knew about us, you know. She told me after you left. Said she knew for sure on my birthday, but she figured I’d tell her in my own time. I think she was mad, but mostly ‘cause we kept it a secret. She always knew you were a good guy, Bucky.” 

He looks up into Bucky’s eyes when he says that, and it makes Bucky feel sick and ashamed. He wishes, suddenly, that he hadn’t eaten a thing, because the food is sitting heavy in his chest now. He hauls in a breath, and gets up to walk over to the window. 

“If she still thinks I'm a good guy, yer pa can’t have told her what really happened.”

“Then what _did_ happen?” Steve yells, scrambling off the bed too. “I’m getting sick of this fucking mystery, Bucky. What the fuck did he do? Why’d you leave me like that?”

Bucky screws his eyes shut. He wants so badly to pull Steve into his arms, to hold him close just once, while he still can. Steve ain’t gonna wanna know, not when he’s heard the truth. Steve always does right, every damn time, his compass pointing true north. While Bucky, well, his compass has only ever pointed at Steve. 

“Hey!” Steve snaps, grabbing his shoulder. Bucky turns to face him, and Steve looks utterly wretched: angry and miserable. “Why, Buck?” he chokes. “I gotta know, please, you don’t - you don’t know what it did to me, when you went off like that.”

If there’s one thing Bucky can’t do, it’s stand by and watch Steve cry. Throwing caution to the wind, he wraps his arms around Steve, and almost sobs with relief when Steve slumps against him, arms going tight around his waist. “Hey,” Bucky murmurs, pressing his hand to the back of Steve’s head. “Hey, I’m sorry, ’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

Steve shakes his head, smearing his wet face against Bucky’s neck. “I don’t want you to be sorry,” he says angrily. “I just wanna know.”

Bucky strokes his hair. “I know, I know.” He loosens his grip a little, nudging Steve back toward the bed. “Sit yer ass down, c’mon. I’ll talk.”

**Then**

_Teenage kids sneakin' out again_  
I heard the thunder rollin' in.  
We were fallin' the moment when,  
It all came pourin' down 

\- Trisha Yearwood, Georgia Rain

Bucky's glad it's a Friday night when the storm rolls in, 'cause he ain't likely to get much sleep until it’s done. He just hopes it’s blown itself out by tomorrow. He’s got _plans_ for Steve’s birthday, and they’re not gonna work so well if it rains all weekend. Bucky knows it’s dumb, but he’s been afraid of thunderstorms since he was a kid, and while they don’t send him scampering to hide under the blankets anymore, he still hates them.

He’s trying to distract himself with a book when he catches the first flash of lightning from the corner of his eye. Scowling, Bucky goes over to the window to peer out, and he frowns when another flash lights up the slope of the hill down to the farmhouse, and he sees a figure coming up the track to the cabin. He goes to the door and wrenches it open, letting in a blast of wind and bitter rain. It’s Steve, holding a jacket over his head and running as fast as his short legs can handle. He crashes through the mud, and skids to a stop on Bucky’s doorstep, his face red from running, chest heaving. 

“The hell are you doin’ here?” Bucky asks, stunned as he looks him over. Steve is only wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt, and they’re soaked right through from the heavy rain. He rests one hand on the door jamb, trying to catch his breath, and Bucky reaches for him with a sigh. “C’mon, get inside.”

“Just - _hah_ \- wanted to see you,” Steve gasps, giving him a smile like a grimace. He throws his wet jacket down by the door, and Bucky picks it up to hang it on a hook. “Couldn't sleep, with the storm. Figured you might be awake too.”

Bucky sighs again, trying not to look too concerned at the wheeze in Steve’s chest. “You ain't got a lick of sense, kiddo,” he says, and ruffles Steve’s wet hair. “Stay put, lemme get you a towel.” He leaves Steve shivering by the door while he fetches a towel from the closet, and shakes his head when he hands it over. “It’s late y’know. I should send you packin' right back to yer bed.”

“Aw, Bucky,” Steve whines, while he rubs at his hair and arms with the towel. “Let me stay, please? Just for a while, I'll be good.”

That probably makes Bucky laugh more than it should, but Steve just grins at him, pleased. “Fine,” Bucky says, shaking his head at himself this time. He’s a fool for Steve, but at least he knows it. “But yer gettin’ out of them wet things. I’ll find ya somethin’ to wear.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, still a little breathless. He strips out of his pajamas quickly, and wraps himself in the thin towel. 

“C’mon,” Bucky says, waving him over. “Sit your skinny ass by this fire for a minute, I ain’t gonna let you catch yer death on my account.” Steve obediently sits himself in the beat up old armchair and stretches his feet out towards the fireplace. Bucky rifles through his clothes until he finds an old t-shirt and some clean underwear, and brings them over to Steve. “Up you get,” he says gently, nudging Steve to his feet. 

Bucky takes hold of the towel and unwraps him slowly, rubbing away the remaining dampness on his shoulders and ribs, then crouching down to dry his thighs, his calves, and finally his feet. Steve stands patiently while he does it, resting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder when he’s told to lift his leg or turn this way or that. When he’s done, he unfolds the t-shirt and pulls it over Steve’s head, then holds the underwear out for him to step into. 

“Sometimes I think you _like_ treatin’ me like a kid,” Steve teases, slipping his hand from Bucky’s shoulder to the back of his neck, cupping his head gently. 

“Shut that smart mouth,” Bucky says, turning his laughter into Steve’s belly. “I like takin’ care of you is all.”

Steve sighs happily and strokes his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Thank you.”

“Ahh, thank me nothin’,” Bucky says, getting up on to the armchair before pulling Steve into his lap. “You still oughta be in bed.”

“Nah,” Steve mumbles, getting comfortable and tucking his face into Bucky’s shoulder. “Like it here.” He yawns, muffling it against Bucky’s t-shirt. “What were y’doin’ before I came?”

Bucky runs his fingers absently down Steve’s back. “Just readin’ in bed.”

“Mmm, we should get in bed. Nice‘n warm.”

“You tryna get me in trouble, Stevie?” Bucky says, laughing. “What if yer folks come lookin' and find you in my bed?” 

It’s a useless protest, and they both know it, which is why Bucky’s already getting to his feet with Steve sleep-heavy in his arms by the time Steve comes up with a response, claiming that his parents have already been asleep for hours. 

“Still no excuse for you to climb out yer window in this weather,” Bucky says, with a small shudder. “What if you’d broken your neck gettin’ down from that roof?”

Steve shrugs. “Didn’t, did I?”

“That ain’t the point.” Bucky sets him down on the bed, and hauls the blankets up around him. Steve snuggles down into the pillows, making himself comfortable. When he’s set, he grins up at Bucky and pats the space beside him. “You wear that shirt real well, kiddo,” Bucky murmurs, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, and leaning in to kiss Steve’s neck. His skin is still cold from the weather outside. 

A flash lights up the interior of the cabin again, and Bucky freezes, waiting for the crack of thunder to follow. It comes a few seconds later, and he holds himself still until it’s finished. He feels Steve reach out to touch him, finding one of his hands on top of the blankets. 

“Get in here with me,” Steve whispers. “That thunder’s real loud.”

Bucky swallows hard, cursing himself for being so stupid in front of Steve. “Scoot over,” he says, forcing his voice steady. Steve moves up, not by much, but enough to give Bucky space to slide in under the blankets. Almost at once, Steve plasters himself to Bucky’s side, and Bucky clutches at him gratefully. “So what’re you doin’ here?” he asks quietly. “The real reason.”

“Came to get my birthday present, obviously,” Steve says, raising his head up to look at Bucky. He glances over to the clock and smiles slyly. “I can wait another five minutes ‘til midnight though.”

Bucky slips his hand down Steve’s spine, stroking the lovely curve of his back. “Oh, it's yer birthday? Slipped my mind completely.”

Steve chuckles, and the sound is warm and dirty against Bucky's neck. "Guess that don't matter," he mutters, shifting his hips against Bucky's slowly. His hand slides over Bucky's belly, and teases at the waistband of his sweatpants. "I know you got _somethin'_ fer me."

"Hey, hey!" Bucky says, laughing when Steve's fingers move further south. "Hands where I can see 'em! Four minutes 'til this ain't a crime no more. You can wait."

Steve huffs impatiently, but he does as he's told and moves his hand up to rest on Bucky's chest. "Buck?"

"Mm?"

"Why don'tcha like thunder?"

“You noticed, huh?” Steve nods, not a hint of laughter on his face, and Bucky shrugs. “Just never have.”

Steve starts moving his hand down again. “Want me to take your mind off it?” 

“I thought we agreed to wait,” Bucky says, laughing as he reaches to catch hold of Steve’s fingers. 

"Maybe I wanna make my last experience as jailbait a memorable one, you think'a that?"

Bucky laughs. “You mean it ain’t already?” He hauls Steve’s hand up over his head, and rolls him over onto his back, pinning him with his hips. Steve starts protesting, but when he tries to move his other hand, Bucky grabs that too and pins it against the pillow. “This memorable enough for ya, Rogers? Ask nicely, maybe I'll think about lettin' go.”

“Aw, fuck,” Steve moans, wriggling against him and finding nowhere to go, not an inch of space. “You know,” he says, breathlessly, “I - I'm reconsiderin' my position.”

“Ain't nothin' wrong with your position from what I see.” Bucky ducks his head, nudging Steve’s chin to one side and biting down gently on the taut tendons of his neck. Steve makes a soft sound in his throat, and turns his face for a kiss. Smiling, Bucky lets him have it, moving his hips against Steve’s as he kisses him slow and deep.

“Bucky,” Steve gasps when he pulls away again. 

“God, your lips are so soft,” Bucky murmurs, nuzzling Steve’s mouth with his own, not quite a kiss. He glances over his shoulder and catches sight of the clock, then turns back to Steve with a wry smile. “Hey, look at that. Happy birthday, kiddo.”

Steve grins. “Thanks, Buck.” He pushes up with his hips, letting Bucky know he’s ready to go. “Now kiss me, Barnes. I want my birthday present, and I want it hard.”

 

 

“Bucky!” Sarah yells, waving to him. “Come help me with these tables!”

Bucky waves back, and gives Steve one last shove on the tire swing. “Yer on your own, kiddo,” he says, laughing as he dances out of reach when Steve tries to catch at him on his upswing. He glances back over his shoulder as he walks away, catches the flare of his skirt as the air takes it and lifts it up around his thighs. Steve laughs, high and delighted, and for a moment, Bucky can’t breathe. He wants to run back, catch hold of the swing and kiss Steve as if he never means to stop. 

He’d woken up that morning to Steve hammering on his door, and opened it to find him standing on the doorway in a pretty blue sundress and a pair of flat pumps. He had a new wig too, or he’d styled it differently, pulling it back from his face into curls. 

“Mornin’, darlin’,” Bucky had said, leaning against the doorframe. “Well ain't you a sight fer sore eyes.”

Steve grinned and twirled on the spot. “You like it? Ma made it fer my birthday.” He blushed a little and tucked a loose curl of long hair behind his ear. “I guess she found the things in my wardrobe, but she never said anythin’. Pa didn’t seem to mind neither.”

Bucky laughed, and caught Steve up under his arms so he could swing him around. Steve yelled happily, throwing his arms around Bucky’s neck. “You look beautiful, doll,” Bucky said, setting him down again. “Matches yer pretty eyes.”

Steve practically glowed. “Thanks, Buck. Hey, Ma said you gotta come join us for breakfast, before we get set up for the party.”

“I’ll be there.”

Bucky lopes across the grass to the barn, where Sarah and the Pastor are setting up a bunch of tables and long benches with the help of a couple of locals. He pitches in at once, getting instructions from Sarah before she goes away to enlist Steve’s help with organizing the food. People start arriving in groups not long after, and the Pastor gets the speakers set up so they can start the music playing. There’s plenty of kids rolling around, and Bucky’s leading them around the pond in pairs on one of the horses when he recognizes Clint’s car roll up along the farm track. 

“Alright, guys,” he says, pulling the horse to a halt. “Time’s up, Bessie’s gettin’ tired from haulin’ yer big butts.”

The kids all yell in protest and clamor at him for more, but Bucky just laughs and chases them away, back to the party. Clint’s already spotted him, and he comes ambling up the hill as Bucky leads the horse back toward the paddock. 

“Hey there, neighbor,” Bucky yells, grinning at him. 

Clint laughs and reaches out a hand, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “Good t’see ya, Barnes,” he says, smiling as he brandishes a six pack in his other hand. “Gonna help me with these, I hope?”

Bucky nods. “You bet.” He gestures for Clint to follow. 

“Ain’t seen much of ya lately,” Clint says, falling into step beside him. “Things goin’ well?”

“Well enough,” Bucky says, glancing across at him, but he can’t help the smile that steals across his face. 

Clint rolls his eyes and gives Bucky a playful shove. “Shit, so that’s what love looks like. Looks good on you.”

Bucky turns away from him when he feels his face heat. He’s stupid for Steve and he knows it. Can’t help how it looks. “Yer a sweet talker, Barton, but I’m all booked.”

“Good comeback,” Clint says, laughing. “He about? I’d like to meet him.”

“Sure, so long as you keep yer big mouth shut.”

“Why, he speak sign language?”

Bucky shrugs. “Never asked.”

They both laugh, and Clint hitches himself up onto the fence while Bucky gets the horses both stowed away in the paddock. The action reminds Bucky of Steve, except for how Clint is over six feet and the fence shudders under his bulk. He drops the beers into the long grass and pops two open on the fencepost, before passing one over to Bucky. 

“Hell of a storm last night.”

“Hell on earth,” Bucky agrees, trying to forget about the way Steve felt, wrapped around him and shuddering through the noise overhead. “I forgot,” he says, to distract himself, “how bad they get around here. I always thought they couldn’t be as bad as I remember from being a kid, but they’re worse.”

Clint makes a vague noise of agreement and swallows his beer. “I guess when you’re a kid, you’re trustin’ yer folks to handle it, make sure nothin’ real bad happens. When you grow up, you realize it’s just you, and you ain’t always enough.”

“Buddy, ain’t that the truth.” Bucky reaches over to clink his beer with Clint’s, and they both drink together. They’re quiet for a little while, listening to the noise of the party getting going down the hill, and the screams and laughter when some kids set off a bunch of firecrackers. Bucky glances at the horses, but they’re away at the other side of the paddock and they just flick their ears, unconcerned. 

“Want another?” Bucky asks, stooping to pick up the beers, but Clint laughs and jumps down. 

“No no, you an’ me are gonna mingle.”

They join in for a while with the games and the nonsense going on down by the barn. Bucky introduces Clint to Sarah and the Pastor in passing, and he’s just looking around for Steve when he turns just in time to catch an armful of him, barrelling out of the barn. 

“Woah there, kiddo,” he gasps, Steve knocking the air right out of him. “You in a hurry?”

Sarah scolds him, though not with much force, and Steve just starts laughing. “Bucky don’t mind,” he says, giggling as he extricates himself. He looks at Clint, standing beside Bucky with a bemused expression.

“Clint Barton,” he says, offering his hand to shake. “You must be Stevie.”

When Steve shakes his hand, Clint lifts it up to kiss his knuckles. Steve’s eyes go wide for a second, and he scowls when Bucky starts giggling. “Dammit, Bucky,” he says with a half-hearted scowl.

“What! It wasn’t _my_ idea.”

Clint offers to get them all some food, and Steve and Bucky find a space to sit on the grass. They while away the next couple of hours shooting the shit, drinking beer and stuffing themselves with food. As the evening wears on, the music gets turned up for dancing and Steve, tipsy from a couple of sneaky drinks, drags Bucky into the barn to dance with him. 

They ham it up, acting silly for the watching eyes, keeping their hands gingerly above the waist, anywhere that looks platonic.

"Hey, cowboy," Steve murmurs after a few songs, pitching his voice under the music as he wraps his arms around Bucky's neck. "You wanna take a walk to the lake and cool off?" 

Bucky snorts. "I ain't screwin' you in a lake, Rogers."

"Maybe just a quick hand job?" Steve teases.

Bucky laughs loudly. He picks Steve up and swings him around on the dancefloor, while a few people around them cheer and clap, then sets him down gently. "C'mon, kiddo. Still gotta give you yer present." He looks up, and catches sight of Clint off to one side. When Bucky meets his eyes, Clint waves at him frantically, so Bucky smiles and gives Steve a gentle nudge towards the door. “You go on, I’m just gonna say ‘night to Clint.”

Steve skips off, like he hadn’t the slightest care, and Bucky starts wrestling his way through the crowd to where Clint is standing. He’s almost there when someone grabs hold of his arm and pulls him away. 

“Bucky!” It’s Mrs Rogers, looking decidedly pink-cheeked and merry. She throws her arm around his neck and gives him a crushing squeeze. “You’re a fine young man, you know that, don’tcha?” she yells in his ear

Bucky accepts her embrace with pleasant confusion, and hugs her back gingerly. “Uh, thank you, Mrs R.”

She pulls back and grabs his face between her hands. “You’re so good to my boy,” she says, and Bucky is horrified to see that she looks a little tearful. “I’m so glad you’re a good friend to him.”

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky says, easing away gently. “He’s a swell kid, ma’am. I’m awful fond of him.”

“I know, honey, I know.” She strokes his cheek and smiles, a little watery. “I trust you.”

Bucky’s stomach wrenches, and he drops his head, unable to look her in the eye. But before he can come up with any kind of response, she’s already laughing and pulling away. 

“Well, I’d better get back, and let you enjoy the party! You won’t miss the fireworks, will you? John’s been gettin’ them ready all week.”

He dredges up a smile. “Not a chance.”

She gives him one more fond pat on his arm before turning away, and Bucky steps away from her with a heavy feeling. When he’s with Steve, he can push away the guilt about what they do, but it’s gone too long now. If they’re gonna tell, they oughta do it, only trouble is that Bucky can’t stand the thought of breaking the Rogers’ hearts, not after all their kindness. Clint catches him stumbling out of the barn and throws an arm around him. 

“Buck,” he says, voice low and anxious. “The hell was that?”

“It’s fine,” Bucky says, pulling away from him. “I’m fine.”

Clint makes a frustrated sound and drags him away from the noise. “No, you ain’t.”

“Stevie’s waitin’-”

“Yeah,” Clint snarls, “I noticed. The hell do you two think you’re doin’, huh? You told his folks yet?”

Bucky grimaces. “Christ, don’t, she’s just been tellin’ me about how I’m such a good buddy to her little boy.” He groans and covers his face with his hands. “Fuck, Clint, what’m I gonna do?”

“Call it off.”

“It’d kill him.” Clint looks at him hard, and Bucky turns his head away. “Fine, it’d kill _me_.”

“Shit, listen to Romeo over here.” Clint punches him, none too gentle, in the left arm, and Bucky squawks. 

“Hey!”

“You’re bein’ a dumb fuck, Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky scowls at him, rubbing the spot on his arm. “You couldn’t just _say_ that?” Clint rolls his eyes. “So what’m I s’posed to do, anyway?”

“Hell if I know, but you two can’t go on like this, not the way you were acting in there. If I could see it halfway across the damn room, you can bet someone else is gonna notice.”

“I can’t - shit, I can’t do this right now,” Bucky mumbled, taking a few steps away. “He’s waitin’.”

Clint calls out after him. “I’m on yer side, Bucky, but you gotta do this right!”

Bucky keeps walking. He’s anxious to get to Steve, but his guts are twisting themselves up in knots. He hasn’t seen the Pastor all afternoon, but he knows that if he saw him now, Bucky might just run and never look back. 

He finds Steve sitting in the grass underneath the treehouse, his back against the tree and his brown skin shining gold in the dying sun. The sight of him makes Bucky’s heart and head go still. Steve’s found a book from somewhere, probably from up in the treehouse, and as Bucky watches, he reaches up to brush some of the long hair out of his eyes with a frown, before turning a page. Bucky watches him, a smile tugging at him, and he knows he’s gonna remember everything about this day for the rest of his life. He wonders, if he told Steve that he’d never seen another girl prettier, whether Steve would believe him. 

“Whatcha readin’, missy?” he says, walking up.

Steve looks up, a grin sparking across his face like wildfire. “Bucky,” he says softly, putting aside the book. He reaches out his hands, and Bucky pulls him to his feet. Steve presses up against him briefly, before darting away, tugging on one of Bucky’s wrists. “I wasn’t kiddin’ about that swim.”

“Aw, Jesus,” Bucky says, laughing softly. “You ain’t worried someone will see?”

“Lucky sonovabitch if they do,” Steve says, shrugging. “C’mon, nobody ever goes down there, and we can watch the fireworks with nobody around.”

“Okay, okay.” Bucky throws up his hands in surrender. “I’m in, let’s go before someone else catches us.”

Steve gives him a strange look, but he’s too excited about taking Bucky to the lake to give it much thought. They walk fast, getting away from the crowd. They’re close enough that their hands touch a few times, almost like it could be by accident, and when Bucky thinks they’re well out of sight of the party, he takes Steve’s hand and holds onto him. Steve doesn’t look over at him, but Bucky sees him smile to himself. 

When they reach the shale that tips down to the water’s edge, Steve laughs and pushes himself into Bucky’s arms, ass first. “Help me get outta this?” he asks, throwing a flirty look over his shoulder. 

Bucky presses a soft kiss to the back of Steve’s neck as he pinches the zip between thumb and forefinger and pulls it slowly down. He draws it right down to the bottom, and slides his hand inside the open dress to run his fingers over Steve’s skinny back. Steve shivers and pulls away from him with a noise that’s half laughter, half gasp. “Buck,” he whines, but he’s grinning.

“Been waitin’ all day to get you outta that dress,” Bucky says, advancing on him and pulling him close by his hips. “My girl’s just as pretty underneath all that.”

“You talk shit, Barnes,” Steve says. He blushes and shrugs away so he can pull the dress down off his shoulders. He looks up at Bucky expectantly, and Bucky laughs before hauling his t-shirt over his head. They both strip down quickly, although Steve is careful with his dress, and Bucky lies it on top of his own clothes so it won't get dirty. 

“Wanna hear a secret?” Bucky asks, reaching out to pull him close again, pressing their skin together. Steve nods, looking up at him with a dopey expression. “Never been skinny dippin’ before.”

Steve bursts out laughing. Steve grabs hold of his hand and they run, yelling and laughing, into the water. It’s cold compared to the heat of the afternoon, but their limbs quickly adjust to the lukewarm water. The water only comes up to their chests, and they lose track of time horsing around, splashing and dragging each other under the water. The sun slowly disappears as they splash around, the water turning dark around them. Without its long heat, they start to shiver again, and Bucky pulls Steve into a long, slippery embrace while they kiss, and kiss. He still feels a little drunk, just enough to make the evening stretch out like caramel, to make each kiss feels like it lasts hours. 

They’re interrupted, finally, by the crackling of fireworks overhead. Steve turns around in Bucky’s arms so he can lean back to watch them, his wet hair sticking to the side of Bucky’s neck. “Happy birthday, kiddo,” Bucky whispers, kissing the side of his head. Steve hums happily and presses back against him. 

It’s too cold to stay still in the lake, so they climb out of the water after a minute or two, and lie curled together in the grass to watch the rest of the display. When Steve starts to shiver, Bucky wrestles him into his own t-shirt despite Steve’s protests. He uses his underwear to dry himself enough to get his jeans back on, and drags Steve to his feet. 

“We oughta get you back to yer party,” he says, feeling a little guilty for dragging Steve away from his folks, and his friends. 

Steve shakes his head. “You owe me somethin’ first.”

Bucky plays innocent, looking clueless. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“C’mon, ya hick,” Steve says, laughing at him. He grabs Bucky’s arm and starts dragging him towards the cabin. “You’ve been holdin’ out on me all day.”

They walk slowly up there, Steve carrying his dress wrapped carefully under one arm, shoes dangling from his other hand. Bucky wishes he could put his arm around Steve. He gets the feeling Steve wants him to, but Clint is right. Bucky’s risked enough for one evening. Before this goes on any longer, he oughta ask Steve about telling his parents, but it’ll keep for the morning. Last thing he wants to do is make Steve worry about that on his birthday. They run into a few people on their way, but once they’re past the lake and the paddock, there’s nobody about. 

“I dunno if yer gonna like it,” Bucky says when they’re almost there, but Steve just laughs and shakes his head. 

“What do ya think I’m expecting?” Steve teases, “Diamonds?”

Bucky grins. “I hope not.” 

They get inside, and Bucky hesitates before picking up Steve’s gift from the table. “Hey,” he murmurs, taking Steve’s hand and pulling him close. Up here, in the quiet, he can hear Steve’s breathing, smell the familiar, comforting sweat on his skin. He cups Steve’s face between his hands and kisses him, soft and sweet. “You know I’m crazy about you, right?” he whispers.

Steve grins, a slice of light in the growing dark. “You ain’t hardly subtle about it,” he mutters, sliding his arms around Bucky’s waist. “But I like it. I’m crazy about you too, Buck.”

He goes in for another kiss, and Bucky pulls back, grinning too. “Just a minute.” He turns away from Steve’s disappointed look, and picks up the small package from the table. Now that he’s here, it seems like a dumb idea after all, but it’s too late, so before he can change his mind, he thrusts it into Steve’s hands. “I - hope you like it,” he says, looking down at his boots. “But if not, I can change it?”

Steve eyes him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, a little worried about what he’s going to find inside maybe. He pulls open the small package - gift wrapped by the store assistant, much more prettily than Bucky could’ve done it - and Bucky watches his face anxiously as he takes the lid off the box.

“This is for me?” Steve mutters, his voice barely above a breath. He reaches into the box and pulls out the soft, lace-edged panties Bucky picked out. He rubs the material between his fingers before putting them back and pulling out the delicate, unwired bra that matches them. It took him two hours to decide on the right set. They’re white and fairly plain except for a scrap of lace and the a pale pink ribbon trim, something a teenage girl might wear, a good little girl. 

When Steve looks up again, he’s wearing the most heartbreaking smile Bucky’s ever seen: small and uncertain, his eyes wet and bright. He looks down again, and rubs his eyes with his left wrist. “Dumb hick,” he mumbles, swiping at his cheeks. 

Bucky grins and touches his cheek. “You like ‘em?”

Steve heaves a sigh. “Buck, they’re _beautiful_.” He smiles shyly. “Y’wanna see ‘em on?”

“Not tonight,” Bucky says, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “We oughta get you back, let your folks share a little of yer birthday, huh?”

“Alright,” Steve says quietly, still looking kind of dumbstruck. “Thank you, Bucky. Between this and my mom - this is the best birthday I ever had.” He looks up again, his eyes a little watery and red, but he’s smiling. “I’m real glad you’re here.”

Bucky slips an arm around his shoulders to pull him close. “Me too, kiddo.”

 

 

“Stevie, honey, pass me those peas.” 

Steve’s not listening, so Bucky reaches over and grabs the bowl instead, passing them up to Sarah. “Thank you, Bucky,” she says, with a frown. “Steve? Honey?”

Steve looks up at last, his expression dazed, and Bucky stifles a smile. Steve talked Bucky into blowing him in the treehouse before dinner, and he seems to have lost his mind along with his load. “Yeah, Ma?”

Sarah rolls her eyes at him. “Nothing. Eat up your vegetables.”

“Yeah, Ma,” Steve mutters, in a put-upon tone. Bucky laughs at him, and Steve nudges him with his knee, flashing him a scowl. 

Bucky chatters away with Steve’s folks through dinner, though he notices Sarah side-eyeing Steve once or twice. Because it’s Sunday, Sarah’s made her signature apple pie for dessert, and Bucky helps her to clear the plates and bring it through to the table. He gets back just in time to hear the Pastor trying to get some sense out of Steve.

“Have you decided what you’re gonna do about them yet? You’ll have to answer them soon.”

“No,” Steve snaps, scowling. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Steve,” the Pastor says, frowning. “You can’t just ignore it. It’s _college_. You need to make a decision.”

“He’s right, sweetie,” Sarah says as she takes her seat.

Bucky touches Steve’s knee gently under the table, and pulls his hand back quickly when he feels the tension in his legs. He’s sitting ramrod straight, his hands fisted in his lap. Bucky feels like he oughta be running in the opposite direction. 

“Maybe I don’t _wanna_ make a decision,” Steve says, his voice quiet and controlled. “Maybe I’m not ready to go yet.”

“I, uh - I oughta check on the horses,” Bucky says, getting to his feet. “Thanks for dinner, ma’am.”

“Oh, Bucky, you don’t have to go-”

“Let him go if he wants to go,” Steve says, scowling. He glances up at Bucky as he steps back from the table, and Bucky gives him a small nod. He needs Steve to understand that he ain’t running away, but this is clearly a conversation he’s got no part in. He’ll be waiting when Steve needs him. 

As he’s walking across the yard, Bucky hears shouting from inside the farmhouse, and he winces and sticks his hands in his pockets. Steve’s been fighting more and more with his parents, and Bucky can’t help feeling responsible. Steve may complain about them a lot, but it’s gotta be hard for him trying to keep a secret from them like this. It ain’t good for any of them. He wanders up to the cabin, so Steve will know where to find him, and picks up a book to read, although he might as well be holding it upside down, for all the sense he can make of it right then. 

Steve appears about an hour later, kicking at the dirt outside the cabin rather than knock on the door. Bucky hauls him inside and shoves him back against the door, kissing him hard and dirty. Steve moans loudly, digging his nails into Bucky’s back. 

“I fuckin’ hate it,” he hisses, when Bucky stops kissing him for long enough to let them both catch a breath. “Why can’t they just leave me alone?”

Bucky laughs, which turns out to be a mistake. “They’re yer folks, it’s their job.”

“Aw, Christ, not you too,” Steve groans, pushing him away. “I’m sick of talkin’ about it.”

“Stevie, I ain’t-”

“It’s my choice,” he says angrily, “and what if I don’t even _wanna_ go?”

Bucky’s face falls. “This about me?” Steve shrugs, not meeting his eyes, and Bucky shakes his head. “Trust me, you don’t wanna be stuck here the rest of yer life. You wanna go to school.”

Steve sighs, hot and frustrated. His hands are clenched at his sides, and he looks like he’s gonna start crying any second. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, pushing it out again with effort. “Buck,” he says calmly, “I want you to hit me.”

Bucky reels back. “Y’what? No, Stevie-”

“Hit me,” Steve says, looking up at him. His eyes are red, but his face is set. “Please, Bucky, I trust you. I can’t - I gotta get this out somehow.” He looks away, and his voice drops almost to a whisper. “Please, I need it to hurt.”

“Fuck,” Bucky murmurs, a shiver running through him. He reaches out to Steve and tucks him into his arms. “Okay, honey. Okay.”

Steve curls his fingers into Bucky’s shirt, gripping him tight. “Tell me what to do,” he whispers.

Bucky kisses the top of his head and nods. “Fine. But if you need me to stop, you tell me, okay? You say, uh-”

“I’ll say apple pie,” Steve mutters, and Bucky smiles. 

“Okay, I hear apple pie and I stop.” He runs his fingers through Steve's hair a couple of times to steady him. It's a little dirty, in need of a wash, but Bucky never minds him a bit worse for wear. "Get your pants off ," he says in a low voice.

Steve steps away from him and unfastens his jeans. He pushes them down quickly, kicking them away across the floor, and looks up at Bucky expectantly.

"You wanna take yer punishment lyin' on yer belly, or bent over my knee?"

“Oh god,” Steve gasps. “Uh, your knee?” 

“Come on then,” Bucky says, wrapping his fingers around the back of Steve’s neck and leading him over to the table. He pulls out one of the chairs and sits himself down, then pats his knee with his left hand. “C’mere.”

Steve meets his eyes for a moment, uncertain now that they’re here, so Bucky reaches for his wrist and tugs him forward. “Don’t make me tell you again,” he says sharply, yanking him hard so Steve stumbles into his thigh and falls forward. Bucky catches him around his waist, pinning Steve against his legs. 

“Shit, Bucky,” Steve hisses, wriggling against him. 

Bucky smacks his thigh. It’s not really hard enough to hurt, not yet, but it startles him into stillness. “That’s better,” Bucky says gently, sliding his hand up Steve’s thigh. His fingertips slip up under the elastic leg of Steve’s boxers, and he gives them a soft tug. “Better get these off, hadn’t we, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve mutters. With some awkward maneuvering, he hooks his thumbs in his waistband and tugs his underwear down, getting it down just under his ass before he gives up, panting. “Sorry, I can’t reach.”

Bucky runs his palm over Steve’s pale behind. “No trouble to me, sugar.” He pinches Steve’s ass, making him yelp, and watches the skin flush. “You look real pretty bent over.”

“Bucky,” Steve moans, clutching at Bucky’s thigh. “Do it, please.”

“Stevie, Stevie,” Bucky says, clucking his tongue at him. “You still gotta learn some patience.”

Steve groans, but he stills himself again, dropping his head so his chin rests on Bucky’s thigh. Bucky slides his hand up, pushing under Steve’s t-shirt and stroking his ribs just to see him shiver. “This how you want it, darlin’?” Steve nods, and Bucky pulls his hand free. He reaches back, then he smacks Steve on the side of his ass, smart enough to make him jump and draw in a sharp, noisy breath. “Like that?”

“Harder,” Steve says, digging his fingers into Bucky’s thigh. “Please.”

Bucky rubs his palm over Steve’s ass. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” he says gently. “You’ll get it.”

He holds onto Steve’s shoulder with his left hand, and gives him a dozen blows with his right. He keeps them light at first, measuring the effect they’re having by the sounds Steve is making. His breathing is heavy, and he exhales harshly each time Bucky hits him, but otherwise he’s quiet. Quiet at least until Bucky hesitates, when he turns his head and hisses, “Don’t stop, c’mon. Make it _hurt_.”

Bucky frowns, but he gives Steve another dozen, slowly increasing the intensity with each one. By the time he's done, Steve is choking back a small, wounded noise with each smack. His palm is stinging, and Steve's ass is starting to shine like a ripe apple. 

"You okay?" he asks softly, running a soothing hand over Steve’s back. "Need to move?"

Steve shakes his head. "Fine like this."

"Sure? I ain't gonna let you hurt yerself."

"Bucky," Steve says through gritted teeth. “Hit me.”

Bucky shuts his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. “What do you say if y’want me to stop?”

Steve groans. “Apple fuckin’ pie, I got it.”

Scowling, Bucky grabs Steve’s underwear and drags it down to his knees, making Steve gasp. He pushes Steve forward with the hand on his shoulder and starts slapping the backs of his thighs. “Think y’get to sass me, boy?” he hisses. Steve finally moans out loud when he says that, shuddering hard against Bucky’s lap. Bucky hits him again. “I asked you a question.”

“No, Bucky,” Steve gasps. 

Bucky hits him again, harder. “No _sir_.”

“Nossir!”

“Good,” Bucky says. He moves his hand up and drags his nails over Steve’s ass. Steve bucks up with a noisy whine, and Bucky curls his fingers over the back of Steve’s neck. “There there, sweetheart. I know you can be good fer me, can’t ya?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. Yes sir.”

“Attaboy,” Bucky says softly. He bends over Steve to kiss the back of his neck, keeping him steady with his arm around Steve’s hips. 

“Bucky,” Steve moans quietly, pushing up against him. “Please, don’t stop - please, God, I need it-” 

Sitting up straight again, Bucky sucks his middle finger into his mouth, then he spreads Steve’s ass and rubs his fingertip over his hole. Steve flinches and cries out softly in surprise, but then he sighs and pushes back. 

“Fuck, _yeah_ ,” Steve breathes. Bucky can feel Steve getting hard against his thighs, which is probably uncomfortable for him, but he doesn’t complain. Steve’s still a little loose from Bucky fingering him while he sucked him off before dinner, but Bucky pushes in slowly with his finger, getting one knuckle just past the ring of muscle and listening to Steve’s breathing go heavy again. “More,” Steve gasps. 

Bucky grins. “More what?”

“Uh, please?” Bucky pulls his hand back and spanks Steve, hard. “Oh God, _sir_ , more, please _sir_.”

“Get on yer hands and knees,” Bucky says harshly. 

Steve hurries to do as he’s told, wriggling off Bucky’s lap and onto the rug in the middle of the floor. He kicks his underwear off the rest of the way, and arranges himself with his ass pointed to Bucky, his t-shirt hanging loose around his shoulders and chest. 

“Mary ‘n Joseph,” Bucky breathes, getting down on knees behind Steve. “Never seen anythin’ as pretty as you.” 

Steve shivers, and Bucky bends to kiss the small of his back, before working his way down. He kisses softly across the hot, flushed skin, holding onto Steve’s hips so he can feel the tension run through him as he struggles to keep himself still. He spreads Steve’s ass open with his palms, pulling on the aggravated flesh before blowing softly over his hole, then leaning in to stroke it with his tongue. Steve whines and tries to push back against him, and Bucky cracks him on the outside of his thigh with his right palm. 

“Fuck,” Steve shouts, flinching away from him. “Fuck, _fuck_.”

“That’s a good boy,” Bucky mutters. “Think y’can keep quiet fer me, darlin’? Be good fer me?”

Steve nods. “Yessir.”

Bucky straightens up again and pushes his crotch against Steve’s ass, grinding against him through his jeans. Steve starts to moan, but he chokes it down quickly. “Good boy,” Bucky says encouragingly, and moves away again. He strokes his hand over Steve’s pretty behind once, then he starts letting him have it. Bucky doesn’t let the blows get too regular, keeping Steve on edge. He’s good at first, good and quiet, but after a couple of minutes he drops to his elbows and shoves his fist in his mouth. He’s gasping heavily with each smack, occasionally letting out a thready whine that he just can’t hold back. 

After a while, Bucky’s hand and wrist are aching, and Steve’s ass and thighs are red raw, but when he stops and moves around to Steve’s side to lift his chin, Steve turns a baleful look on him. “Buck, please - I ain’t done yet. I can take more.”

Bucky frowns. “You sure?”

Steve nods desperately. “Really, just a little more, just-”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky mutters, soothing. He crouches down and cups Steve’s face so he can kiss him, brush the sweaty hair back off his forehead. “I’ve got ya, honey, yer being so good for me.”

He pulls back, and while Steve looks up at him, Bucky loosens his own belt, and pulls it out slowly of the belt loops on his jeans. “Aw fuck,” Steve mutters, looking from the belt to Bucky’s face. He looks sick with gratitude and eager excitement. “Really?”

Bucky nods. “But you _tell_ me-”

“I know, I know.”

He moves back behind Steve, feeling a little sick himself. His pa used to hit him with a belt when he misbehaved, and he wouldn’t wanna relive that, but it means he knows how to hold it, how to hit, to make it really sting. How to leave a mark or not. 

This time, when Bucky hits him, Steve cries out loudly, and slams his fist against the floorboards. Bucky hesitates. “Stevie?”

“I’m good,” Steve moans, “it’s good, please-”

Bucky pushes aside his reservations and brings the belt down on Steve’s backside a half dozen times, while Steve wails and shudders beneath him. He’s not hitting him that hard, all things considered, and Steve must realize that too, because he pushes himself up on one arm to glare at Bucky over his shoulder. 

“Stop actin’ like I’m gonna _break_ ,” Steve hisses.

“You _are_ ,” Bucky snarls back at him.

Steve groans and yells back, “No I _ain’t_ No..”

Bucky growls and reaches for Steve’s wrist, pushing him face first into the rug. He gets behind him and grabs the other one too, twisting them up behind his back so he’s pinned there. Steve moans loudly. “Ohhh, Bucky,” he whines, breathlessly. 

“Don’t you move,” he hisses, getting to his feet. He grabs some lube and a condom from his nightstand, and unfastens his jeans as he kneels down behind Steve again. The belt killed his desire somewhat, but Steve’s helping fix that problem with the way he’s moaning and whispering under his breath, begging to be fucked. Bucky gets his prick out and rolls the condom on. Steve starts moving, rolling his hips, and Bucky scowls. “I said keep still,” he says harshly, and he pinches Steve again, at the fleshy swell where his ass meets the top of his thigh. Steve whimpers and curses under his breath, his hips moving as he tries to chase the touch of Bucky’s palm.

Bucky gets his fingers slick and wraps them around his dick, getting himself ready quickly. When he’s done, he brings his wet hand down hard on Steve’s ass one more time, then he wipes it off on his jeans and grabs hold of Steve’s wrists. Steve sobs when Bucky pushes in, slow but relentless, not giving him any quarter. 

Steve's like a tight fist around him, gripping almost painfully, and Bucky can hardly breathe for how good it feels. He pulls out as soon as he can bear to, and tugs hard on Steve's wrists when he pushes back in slowly, feeling him shudder. But Bucky's in no mind to go slow, and neither is Steve for that matter, so he spreads his knees a bit, grabs onto Steve's forearms like an anchor, and starts slamming into him. Sweat is staining through Steve’s t-shirt, soaking the armpits and making a pattern of broken wings on his back. He cries out loudly at the rough treatment, but Bucky knows better now than to stop and ask if this is really what he wants. 

Bucky lifts one knee and plants his foot on the ground so he can slam down into Steve’s hole, angling toward his prostate, hoping to get him off again and make this all worth it. Each thrust drives Steve into the rug and forces out the air in his chest, so that he’s panting hard, making dry sobbing noises in his throat. When Bucky drills him particularly hard, Steve whimpers and his feet kick out helplessly against the floorboards. It makes Bucky feel wrong; hitting Steve had been one thing, but although he’s clearly getting off on this, Steve looks more like he’s in pain now than he did before. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, loosening his grip on Steve’s arms as he slows his thrusts. “Stevie, hey-”

Steve doesn’t reply, but he whines, and tries to push back on Bucky’s dick. 

“No no,” Bucky says quickly. “I’m callin’ it, okay? Stevie? Apple pie, okay?” 

Steve moans in vague protest, but he doesn’t move or try to stop him. Bucky doesn’t pull out yet, but he carefully loosens Steve’s grip on his own forearms and moves his arms from behind his back. Steve slumps against the floor with a groan, his arms falling to his sides. Bucky curls over his back. “Easy, darlin’,” he murmurs, taking hold of Steve’s wrists again gently to pull them in and cocoon him within both their arms. Steve sobs again, his chest still heaving and tight, and Bucky kisses the back of his neck and shushes him quietly. “Attaboy,” he whispers, reaching up to stroke Steve’s face, brush the hair off his forehead again. “It’s alright, I’ve got you, honey.”

Steve heaves in a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. He’s trembling, but his breathing is starting to ease, and Bucky can feel his heartbeat slow. 

“Stevie? You with me?” Steve nods, his eyes still shut, and Bucky strokes his cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I’m gonna stop now, sweetheart.”

“Fine,” Steve grunts, his voice gritty and loose.

Bucky pushes himself up and pulls out slowly. Steve winces and grits his teeth, and Bucky touches his back. Groaning slightly with effort, Steve rolls himself over, wincing again when his ass scrapes against the rug. He’s flexing his arms slowly, trying to work the feeling back into his hands. Bucky just stares at him, feeling a wash of guilt slip through him like ice water on a hot day. Steve isn’t looking back; he’s staring straight up at the ceiling, his expression blank. 

It feels like there ought to be something for him to say, but Bucky can’t think of a damn thing. He just kneels there with his hands on his thighs, while Steve rubs the sensation back into his hands, for almost a minute. Eventually, they’ve both caught their breath, and Bucky gets to his feet. Steve rolls his head around to look at him finally, his face wary. He opens his mouth to say something, but his mouth is dry and he coughs, swallows a couple of times. “And they say chivalry’s dead.”

Bucky shakes his head. “C’mon, kiddo,” he says gently, reaching down to lift Steve’s shoulders off the floor. “Up you get.”

With Bucky’s help, Steve climbs shakily to his feet, and Bucky gets him over to the bed. As soon as he lets go, Steve curls up on his side, facing away from him. 

“I’ll find somethin’ to put on that,” Bucky mutters, going into the bathroom. He’s got some aloe vera that Mrs Rogers gave him for sunburn, and he warms some on his palms before reaching out to Steve. “Roll on yer belly,” he says quietly. 

Steve does as he’s told, pushing his face into the pillow, and Bucky gently spreads the lotion over his red skin. Steve tenses at the first touch, but he doesn’t make a sound. He looks like he’s bruising around the tops of his thighs, and Bucky makes a mental note to grab some Arnica in town the next day. He tries to work quickly but carefully, covering Steve’s skin with a generous amount of the lotion. When he’s done, he notices that Steve’s trembling again, his shoulders shuddering against the mattress. 

“Oh, Stevie, no,” Bucky mumbles. He wipes his hands off on his jeans, then shimmies out of them completely before climbing up next to Steve on the bed. “Hey, sugar,” he says gently, pressing his forehead between Steve’s shoulder blades. “Can I hold you?”

After a moment, Steve nods, turning over to tuck his face between Bucky’s chin and shoulder. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve, shushing him gently and pressing kisses against his shoulder where his t-shirt gapes. He pulls Steve’s thigh up over his hip, spreading him out so that his skin can dry without sticking to the blankets or Bucky. Steve is breathing shallowly, his fingers curled tight in Bucky’s shirt, breath hot on his neck. 

Bucky sighs and pulls him closer. “You are the sunshine of my life,” he sings softly. Steve goes tense against him, and as he keeps on singing, Bucky feels his chest shake with quiet laughter. “That’s why I’ll always be around.”

“Y’couldn’t-” Steve’s voice is rough, hitching on the words, “carry a tune in a bucket.”

“Oh, Stevie, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs, when he feels a wet smear against his neck, feels Steve shudder again, and realizes it’s not laughter. “I’ve got you, honey, I’ve got you.”

Steve cries for a long time, and Bucky just holds him through it, stroking his hair and his back, whispering to him and singing softly. Eventually Steve pushes himself back, red-eyed and stuffy. “I gotta piss,” he says, thickly. Bucky nods, and watches him climb awkwardly off the bed. Steve always leaves the door open when he uses the bathroom, no shame in him whatsoever, and Bucky tucks his hands behind his head and waits for him to finish. 

“Hey, Stevie?” he calls out. 

“Uh huh?”

Bucky smiles. “Nothin’. You hungry, kiddo?”

Steve gives a reluctant little laugh. “Yeah, kinda. How’d you know?”

“Just a feeling.” Bucky sits up, just as Steve walks out of the bathroom. He’s washed his face, but his eyes are still red and swollen, and even from here, Bucky can see the marks on the side of his thigh. He holds his hands out, and Steve comes into his arms without hesitation. Bucky pushes his face into Steve’s belly, hugging him tight. “C’mon, honey. I ain’t done takin’ care of you yet.”

Steve runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair, brushing it back from his face. He pulls the tie out of Bucky’s ponytail and gathers up his hair, pulling it over to one side, and running his fingers down the tendons of Bucky’s neck. Bucky sighs, stroking his hands down over Steve’s backside without thinking. Steve gasps, surging against him, and Bucky quickly pulls his hands away. 

“Shit,” he murmurs, “sorry, sorry.”

“S’okay,” Steve says quietly, brushing his fingers through Bucky’s hair again. “Thanks for lookin’ after me.”

Bucky frowns, face still turned into Steve’s t-shirt where he can’t see the expression. He’s not all that convinced that he did any good. He pulls back, reaching up to stroke Steve’s cheek. “You wanna talk about it?”

Steve shakes his head, and Bucky makes a face. “Tomorrow,” Steve promises. “I promise, Buck, tomorrow. I - I can’t go through all that tonight.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky says gently. He glances at the clock, and his heart sinks. “It’s gettin’ late, honey. I’ll make you somethin’ to eat, then you oughta head back.”

“I know, I know.”

Bucky gets to his feet and pulls Steve against him, leaning down to kiss him, slow and earnest. He almost doesn’t feel like he _should_ touch Steve after earlier, and he feels tight and uncomfortable in his own skin, but it’s about Steve now, and Steve wants his comfort. They pull back, both reluctant to part, and Bucky kisses the tip of Steve’s nose. “C’mon, let’s get you fed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you're not following me on tumblr, it might interest you to know that this story has so far inspired three fanmixes: [Some Playlists Are Weepier Than Others](http://8tracks.com/lickerswish/some-playlists-are-weepier-than-others) and [Some playlists have codas](http://8tracks.com/lickerswish/some-playlists-have-codas) by lickerish, and [better men have hit their knees and bigger men have died](http://8tracks.com/ilgaksu/better-men-have-hit-their-knees-and-bigger-men-have-died) by ilgaksu!
> 
> They are all AMAZING, please have a listen!
> 
> There is also amazing [cosplay](https://tumblr.com/tagged/it-is-my-face) by sonickitty, and an [incredible fic header](http://pringlesaremydivision.tumblr.com/post/104821295143) by pringlesarenotmydivision, which I reALLY need to remember to add into the fic.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [crooked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crooked/) left a lovely [comment](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2554004/comments/21991763) on the last chapter which I just wanted you all to see! She really has been SO important to me getting this fic out there, and to making it 100% hotter and sassier than it would've been without her. 
> 
> "(psst if anyone else is reading this: i don't reply to comments because really the praise for all the writing 1000% belongs to notallbees, regardless of my behind the scenes role in it. but i did want to say THANK YOU <333 for all the love this fic has gotten. it really is our baby and it means a ton that it's so well received. so yeah. thanks :3)"
> 
> \--
> 
> Soooo this is the first time we see things from Steve's point of view. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

**Between Now and Then**

_Love me, honey, love me till I just don't care  
I'm no angel_

The bar is hot and crowded, and Steve’s in his element. Peggy’s been twenty-one for two weeks, and it’s strange to be buying drinks legally when they’ve spent the past year pouting and flirting to buy them anyway. Steve is sucking the dregs of his cocktail through a straw, kicking his heels against the bar stool. He's a little drunk, on his way at least, and he'd be feeling good if it weren't for the guy he just spotted leaving the bathroom. His hair is lighter and he's got less muscle, but he still looks an awful lot like Bucky.

"Hey," Peggy says, nudging him so hard he almost tips off the stool. "What's the matter with you?"

Steve shakes his head and pulls on a grin like a cheap jacket. "Nothin' at all," he says, lazy with promise. "Gonna get myself slammed tonight."

Peggy reaches for him as he slips off the stool, and yanks him back by his wrist. "Steve, you're wankered, let's just have a dance and go home."

"Let go 'a me," he groans, tugging out of her grasp. "I'm fixin' to get laid, ain't that the whole point of bein' here?"

Peggy frowns at him. "Steve, please. Tell me what this is about."

He snorts. "You've watched enough porn to know." The look of hurt and fury on her face is impossible to miss, but Steve pretends he hasn't seen and turns away. He can't blame Peggy that she doesn't like him back, but that doesn't mean he's gonna sit around and cry into his pillow.

Steve squares his shoulders and straightens his skirt. He's had one eye on the bathroom guy the whole time: right now he's standing across the bar with a couple other guys. They're all bigger and heavier built than Steve, which ain't exactly unusual. He saunters in their direction, puts a subtle swing in his hips that he learned by watching Peggy. Ten steps away, the guy looks up and catches his his eye. Steve smiles, and the guy smiles back.

"Mind if I sit here?" Steve asks, walking right up and sitting himself across the guy's lap. "I'm Stevie."

His eyebrows go up in surprise, but he wraps one big hand around Steve's left knee. "Pleasure to meet you, Stevie. Darren."

Steve reaches over to take Darren's beer from his other hand and takes a long pull of it. "Darren," he says, smiling. He nods at the beer. "You like cheap thrills, huh?" Darren starts to laugh, and Steve smirks. "'Cause I'm cheap as they come." He looks over at Darren's two buddies, who are watching with a mix of amusement and interest. "Course if you ain't interested, maybe one 'a yer friends'll take a ride."

Darren slides his hand further up Steve's thigh, pushing at the hem of his little pleated skirt. "You're not picky, huh?"

Steve smiles. He sets down the beer and slips his arms around Darren's neck. "I like the look of you, Darren," he purrs, letting his breath come out in a little gasp when Darren's other hand circles his waist. "But if you and your friends want the party of your life, trust me, I'm your guy." 

Darren runs his fingers over Steve's sides, just the right side of rough, and Steve has to suppress a shudder when it reminds him painfully of Bucky. Darren turns to talk to his friends, and Steve looks over his shoulder for Peggy, but he can't find her. No wonder really. Damaged goods is one thing: Steve's another level of that entirely. 

"Stevie?"

Steve looks back to find Darren and his buddies all watching him with a predatory look. He smirks. "That a yes?"

 

 

Peggy’s waiting for him when he gets home the next morning, sitting on the floor outside his apartment with two cups of cheap takeout coffee. She doesn't say anything as he walks up, his shoes dangling from one hand. Steve puts his back to the wall opposite her and slides to the floor with a wince. Peggy pushes a coffee over to him and he takes a sip of it.

"Fuck," he moans, closing his eyes and dropping his head back against the wall.

"Good night?"

Steve smiles. "Heaven." Peggy makes a soft noise of derision and Steve opens eyes to glare at her. "What're you doing here, Peg?"

"I don't care what happened to you," she says, her voice very calm and quiet. "It's no excuse for being an arsehole."

"Peggy, I just had sex, it's not a big deal."

"I'm not a toy, Steve," she says, as if he hadn't spoken. "What you said on my birthday. Did you mean it?"

"Doesn't matter," he says, smiling crookedly. 

Peggy narrows her eyes. "Oh, it doesn't matter. Why's that, Steve? Was it a lie? Were you just drunk?"

"What? No!" he says loudly, leaning toward her. "Peg - I would _never_ -"

She sighs, and shakes her head at him with a sad little smile. “Then I think it matters quite a lot.” Peggy rolls to her knees, and shuffles across the hallway to crouch in front of him. There’s a bruise coming up on his left cheekbone, and he makes an anxious noise when she reaches out to brush his hair back off his forehead, cupping his face gently in her hand. “I care about you,” she says, looking him in the eye, her own gaze burning fiercely. “You’re my best friend, and I care about you too much to ruin this by hooking up when you’re not ready for it.”

Steve gapes at her. “I’m ready.”

Peggy shakes her head. “No, honey, you’re not. You’re miserable, and you’re fucked up, and you need to _tell someone_ about it.” She sighs again, and Steve notices with surprise that her eyes are watery. “It doesn’t have to be me, but I can’t be with you until you untangle yourself.”

Steve drops his head. He feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but even getting punched never hurt this much. “You - you think I’m fucked up?” he whispers.

“I think someone fucked you up, and I think I’d like to break their neck,” she says, making Steve laugh thickly. “But in lieu of that, I’d like to get you better." She touches his face again, tilts him up by his chin. “You’re hurting yourself, Steve, I can’t watch it happen.”

“I’m not-”

“The sex,” she says, her mouth tense and unhappy. “I don’t care who you screw or when, but you’re not being _smart_. You’re _trying_ to get yourself hurt, and I can’t watch.”

“Nothing happened,” he murmurs. “Last night, nothing happened. It was just sex.”

Peggy leans back away from him. “Come with me,” she says, getting to her feet and pulling him up after her. She takes his keys and unlocks the door to his apartment, then as soon as she shuts the door behind them, she starts to undress him. 

“What - the hell are you doin’?” Steve hisses, as she wrestles his top over his head. “I thought you didn’t wanna-”

“Shut up,” Peggy says, the kind patience gone from her voice. She throws aside his bra, unfastens his skirt and pulls down his pantyhose and underwear. Steve stumbles out of them, frightened and bewildered, and Peggy pushes him across the room to the full length mirror. “Look,” she says sharply. “Look at yourself.”

Steve shudders at the sight of his pale, skinny limbs, his prominent ribs. People have made him feel bad about his body before, but not Peggy. Never Peggy. “What’m I lookin’ at?” he mutters, lowering his eyes. 

Peggy puts her hands on his shoulders. “Steve, you’re _covered_ in bruises. Don’t tell me that was all consensual because I know you, and getting punished is one thing but getting _damaged_ is quite another.”

“I wanted it rough.”

“You wanted them to make you suffer.” Peggy’s voice is hard and unhappy, and Steve can’t look at her. “How much weight have you lost this semester? Ten pounds? Twenty? You need to take care of yourself.”

Steve feels an ache in his throat, and he swallows down the urge to cry. He hasn’t cried since he left home. “Fine, I got it,” he says flatly. “I’m a mess. I gotta love myself or nobody’ll love me.”

He feels Peggy turn him around, but he barely notices, until she grabs his shoulders and pulls him into her arms. Steve is stiff and unresponsive for a few moments, but Peggy just clutches him tighter, and he finally lets out the sob in his chest like a bubble of air rising to the surface. “Don’t say that,” Peggy tells him fiercely. “You’re _perfect_. You’re the best person I’ve ever known and I love you. I love you, Steve, but it kills me to watch you make yourself sick.”

She holds him while he cries, and when he’s too weak to hold onto her anymore, she pulls him into his pajamas and puts him to bed. “Peggy,” he whispers, when she starts to pull away. “I wanna tell you something.”

It feels good to finally get it off his chest.

**Then**

_You can't start a fire_  
sitting 'round crying over a broken heart  
This gun's for hire  
Even if we're just dancing in the dark 

Bruce Springsteen - Dancing in the Dark

“Mornin’ Bucky!”

Bucky looks up with a wave for Mrs. Rogers. He can’t quite summon up a smile, not after what he did to Steve last night. Unfortunately, she takes his surliness as encouragement, and walks over to where he’s loading sacks of feed into a wheelbarrow. “How’re you doin’?” she asks kindly, giving him a warm smile. “I’m so embarrassed you had to see all that last night.”

Bucky shakes his head. “It ain’t a problem, honest. Didn't bother me.”

Sarah sighs. “They’re both too stubborn, always butting heads. But I guess you always see the worst of your family, and you’re pretty much like family by now.”

“I - dunno about that,” Bucky mutters, looking down at his feet.

“O’course you are, sweetie. We all care about you a heck of a lot.”

Bucky swallows down his self-loathing. “Thank you. I care about y’all too.”

“Oh, damn it,” she mutters, suddenly turning back to the farmhouse. “I’ve left somethin’ baking. I’ll see you later honey, alright?” She hurries off before Bucky can say anything, and he curses himself under his breath. He can’t help feeling like he ought to confess what he and Steve have been up to. Maybe not the specifics, but the general idea. Lying to her makes him feel like shit; it’s just that being with Steve slightly outweighs the guilt. Slightly. 

Speak of the devil, Steve comes tumbling out of the farmhouse not five minutes later, falling into step beside Bucky with a grin as he makes his way over to the stables.

“You’re awful quiet today,” he says at last, moving to help Bucky unload the feed bags. “Ma said you were moping around.”

Bucky snorts and reaches over to haul the sack away from Steve where he’s struggling to lift it. “I look like I’m mopin’?” Steve shrugs, and Bucky realizes a little too late that he’s a selfish ass, and there’s something clearly not right with Steve. “Hey,” he says gently, reaching out to cuff Steve’s chin gently. “How’re you doin’ today, kiddo?”

“Fine,” Steve mutters, glancing away. He smirks. “Sore.”

“I’ll bet.” Bucky glances over his shoulder to check the coast is clear, then he opens the door to one of the empty stalls and drags Steve inside. He pulls him close and nuzzles the soft skin below his left ear. “You wanna take a drive later?” 

Steve hums contentedly and shimmies into Bucky’s space. “Sounds good. I know just the place.”

Bucky reaches down to run his palms over Steve’s ass, keeping his touch gentle, and Steve shivers hard. “How sore?” Bucky whispers.

Steve lets out a little breathless laugh. “You should see my ass, I’m black and blue. Bruised me up like a summer peach.”

“Oh, honey,” Bucky says with a quiet noise of distress. He kisses down the side of Steve’s neck and runs gentle fingers up his spine. “I’m real sorry, I’ll make it up to you.”

“As long as it comes in the form of your mouth, yer already forgiven.”

Bucky grins. “I gotta get back to work. Seeya later, kiddo.”

 

 

They sneak out to the pickup after dinner that night. Bucky’s stashed a thermos of hot chocolate in the glovebox, and he’s pleased when he notices that Steve’s brought a sweater with him for once. They settle into the truck and Steve kicks the radio onto some country station, just so he can complain about Bucky’s singing. 

For a little while they just drive around, watching the sun get heavy in the rear view mirror, stealing looks at each other every couple of minutes. Eventually Steve stops poking fun and sings along too. His voice is sweet and off key, but if he knows it, he doesn't care.

"Let's stop here," Steve says suddenly, sitting up in his seat and slipping his sneakers back on. Bucky follows his directions along an old track to an ancient water mill, broken down and overgrown. 

"Ain't this the start of a horror movie?" Bucky asks with a wry smile as as they climb out of the truck.

Steve shrugs. "That'd be a plantation house. You want some peace and quiet or not?"

Laughing, Bucky reaches out and hauls him close by his shirt. "I want," he mutters, ducking his head to bite Steve's shoulder. "I sure as hell want." He wraps his his arms around Steve and hugs him tight, not letting go even when Steve squirms a little in his grip. 

“Buck-” Steve grumbles. “C’mon, let up.” He loosens his hold and Steve wriggles free, but he grabs for Bucky’s arm as he pulls away, twisting their fingers together. “Let’s take a walk,” he says, grinning over his shoulder. 

There’s still just enough light to make walking worthwhile, so Bucky lets himself be led in the direction of the building’s ruin. Steve doesn’t seem keen to break the silence between them, so Bucky lets it sit and listens to the river getting louder as they get closer. 

“Last night-” Steve says at last, turning his back to Bucky. He’s folded forward on himself, shoulders hunched and his head down so that Bucky almost can’t hear him. He keeps his mouth shut, though, waiting for Steve to finish in his own time. “Shouldn’t’ve asked you to do that,” he mumbles, Bucky straining to hear him.

“Why’d you think that?”

Steve shrugs. “It’s my shit. I shouldn’t drag you into it.”

Bucky snorts. “Like it or not, kiddo, I’m plenty accustomed to yer shit by now.”

“Jackass,” Steve grumbles, turning to aim a lazy swipe at him with one hand. “I mean it, Buck. I - it won’t happen again.”

“That’s fine,” Bucky says slowly, “long as you don’t want it to. But if you want it, Stevie, you can have it.”

Steve bites his lip. “Y’mean that?”

“Of _course_ ,” Bucky says kindly. He presses his face to Steve’s shoulder and kisses his cool skin through his t-shirt. “But we hafta talk about it, okay?”

“We have to?” Steve mumbles, avoiding his eye. 

“Uh huh.” He takes a deep breath, then puts his hands on Steve’s upper arms, just holds him gently. “You didn’t do anythin’ wrong, Stevie, but I ain’t gonna let you hurt yerself. You wanna make time with me, I’m gonna make sure it’s a _good_ time.”

Steve sighs, shaky, and nods his head. “I know, ‘m sorry.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t be sorry, just don’t be such a jerk to yerself.”

“Alright, alright,” Steve says, laughing reluctantly. He turns around to look at Bucky, smiling his shy, crooked smile, the one Bucky hasn’t seen above half a dozen times. He’d bet he’s seen it more than most have. “You know you talk like my grandma, right? Makin’ time?”

“Hey, I’ll call it whatever I want. You don’t like it, don’t do it with me.” Steve laughs at him, more of a giggle, but Bucky won’t point it out. “An’ next time it’s gettin’ too much, you gotta tap out,” he goes on more seriously. He sighs and rubs his forehead with his thumb. “That was my fault, I shouldn’a let us rush into it like that. Y’gotta learn when to say stop. I’ll help ya.”

Steve blushes and looks down at his feet, reaching out for Bucky’s hand without looking. “Pa’s keepin’ on at me about college.”

“He better,” Bucky jokes, but he sees right away from the way Steve’s mouth tightens that it’s the wrong thing to say. “Stevie, forget what your folks say. I know you wanna go to college an’ yer too smart _not_ to go.” He touches Steve’s cheek gently and smiles. “Hell of a shame if you let all this go to waste.”

Steve shakes his head fiercely, throwing Bucky off, and Bucky’s shocked to see that he’s close to tears. “I don’t wanna _go_ ,” he yells. 

“Why not?”

“I just don’t!”

Steve turns away from him, his shoulders shaking. “Fuck,” he hisses, bringing one hand up to swipe at his eyes. “I - shit, Bucky. I don’t wanna go without _you_.”

“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky whispers, his heart seizing pleasantly. Steve shakes his head, and Bucky sighs. “Yer an idiot,” he mutters, slipping an arm around Steve’s shoulders to haul him in for a hug. “Who said ya had to, huh?”

“‘s that s’posed to mean?” Steve mumbles. 

Bucky kisses the top of his head, strokes his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I mean, stupid, why the hell would I wanna hang around this one horse town if you ain’t in it?” Steve pulls back to look at him, his eyes wide and disbelieving, and Bucky laughs. “I ain’t askin’ fer anythin’, kiddo, but you got me in yer life now. Whatever way that comes is alright with me.”

Steve’s expression brightens, and Bucky has to laugh when Steve jumps into his arms. “Buck, you - you goddamn _sap_ \- you mean it? You really mean it?”

“I mean it,” he says, or tries to say, but it gets muffled by Steve’s mouth coming down eagerly on his own. It’s hard to tell when he’s overeager and desperate like this, but Steve’s a hell of a good kisser now, and Bucky’s not sure if they spend twenty seconds or twenty minutes clinging to each other while they swap spit in the dying light. 

Eventually they pull apart from each other, and Steve immediately starts shivering. “C’mon,” Bucky says, herding him back in the direction of the pickup. “You need a sweater, some hot cocoa and a blowjob.”

Steve cackles and starts pulling him along faster.

[ ](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/112738446420/for-the-latest-chapter-of-some-days-are-longer)

 

 

The next week, Bucky opens his door to a quiet knock to find Steve waiting on the mat. "Hey there," he says, putting on his best slow, molasses smile. He doesn't even need to work at it, not with Steve, who brings it out just by showing up. "You look sweet as sherbert." He steps back, leaving the door open for Steve to come in. “I only got twenty minutes before I gotta get back to work. Yer pa's waitin' on me to go fetch some things from the hardware store in town."

Steve shuts the door behind him, and Bucky pulls him into his arms, tucking his face into the sunny warmth of Steve's neck. “You okay?”

"You got time tonight?" Steve murmurs, reaching up to run his fingers up Bucky's nape and into his hair.

"Maybe for you," Bucky mutters, rubbing his lips over Steve’s neck. He slides his hands down to grab Steve's ass and grinds him close. Steve flinches a little, but his fingers clutch at Bucky’s hair. Bucky nips at his shoulder through his t-shirt, but Steve tugs away from him, hips twisting out of his grip.

"I ain't here fer that," Steve says, sounding bad tempered and mutinous.

Bucky laughs and starts to unfasten his belt. "Good thing too," he says, getting it loose and going for his zipper. “Ain't got time for much more than a quick screw."

"Dammit, Buck, I'm not in the mood."

Bucky pauses with his jeans down around his ass and looks down at Steve with a frown. "You ain't?" Steve shakes his head, scowling a little, and Bucky sinks into one of the chairs at the table. "Fine, fine. That ain't a problem." He runs his fingers through his hair, pulling it back from his face, while Steve stands a few steps off, his arms folded around his chest. "Everythin’ alright?”

"Peachy," Steve says, shrugging and letting his arms go loose. Bucky can tell he's forcing himself to relax. He watches Steve walk over to the kitchen and grab himself a glass of water. Steve leans against the counter, and Bucky watches his throat as he swallows. After a couple of mouthfuls he glances back at Bucky. "How's things with you?"

"Uh, fine." The light spilling through the window catches on Steve's skin, and glances off the water on his mouth. Bucky feels heavy and uncertain, and there's no way he wants to pressure Steve, but he's hard enough to hammer nails already. "Sure you don't wanna-" He hesitates, glancing down at his crotch. Steve's barely even _touched_ him and he's ready to go. "-hop on?"

"Nah," Steve mutters, setting down the glass and wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. "Told you. Don't feel like it right now."

Bucky shakes his head. "Sure, okay. That ain't a problem." He lifts his ass off the wooden seat and starts to pull his jeans back up, but Steve stops him with a hand on his shoulder, and pulls out the other chair. He turns it around, straddling the seat and folding his arms on the chair back.

"Wait," he says, resting his chin on his arm, watching Bucky closely. "Maybe I wanna watch."

"You wanna - watch?" Bucky's surprised by the catch of nerves in his voice. Has to be the way Steve always gets him riled up so easy. Much too easy. He cracks a smile, tries for a tease. "Where's the fun in watchin' me rub one out, huh?"

"Right there in your pants," Steve says, his grin stretching his mouth out, smug and self-assured with the edge of nastiness from his mean temper. "What, you forget? Been too long since you took care of yerself like that?"

Bucky laughs and shakes his head. "Think yer so smart, Rogers. Got a comeback fer everythin', don’tcha?"

Steve tilts his head to one side. "Get it out, Buck, lemme see it." He licks his mouth, his eyes flicking up to Bucky's face and showing the only sign that he's not quite sure of himself. "Please?"

"Guess it couldn’t hurt," Bucky murmurs, edging his pants down to his knees and reaching into his underwear. He watches Steve's face, while Steve's got his eyes focused on Bucky's hands, watching closely as he pulls his boxers out of the way and strokes his dick slowly. He pushes his jeans down past his knees and spreads them wider. "Got any special requests?"

Steve bites his bottom lip, pulling the flesh taut and turning it pale against the white of his teeth. He straightens up a little and adjusts his weight, getting comfortable. Bucky grins. Steve's turned on too, despite what he says. Maybe he wants to get off but he just doesn’t wanna screw. Either way, it’s fine by Bucky. "I wanna watch how you do it," Steve says quietly, "when I'm not there."

"Pretty much the same way as everybody else," Bucky says, laughing as he makes a loose fist around himself and gives his prick a few tugs.

"No," Steve says, scowling. "I mean – tell me. Show me just how y'like to touch yerself, tell me what you think about, what _really_ gets you goin'."

Bucky swallows and runs his eyes over Steve, takes in the tension in his shoulders. "What I think about? Besides you, y'mean?" Steve nods at him, eyes wide and eager for more. "'cause most of the time, it's you. The way you come swaggerin' by, all full o'yerself, then you bend over and you _beg_ to be full of _me_ -" His voice becomes a moan, heavy and low, and Steve echoes the sound faintly. "Get me so riled up, kiddo. All I gotta do is picture that pretty mouth of yours and I'm done for."

"What else?" Steve whispers, leaning forward. His hands grip the sides of the chair back, nails digging into the soft wood.

Bucky smirks, slouching a few degrees to push himself closer to Steve, to make his lap more inviting. Just because he don’t wanna fuck right this minute, don’t mean Bucky can't make him thirst for it a little. "Let's see now, I think about what you get up to when I ain't there for ya. About what you'd look like stretched out naked on yer bed, on top'a that pretty patchwork quilt I know you got up there, the one yer ma probably made for ya."

That makes Steve laugh, ducking his head self-consciously. "Yeah, well, that's more how well you know my ma than me." He frowns then. “You think it’s weird that you’ve never seen my room?”

“An’ how would we explain that?”

Steve shrugs. “I dunno, do we have to? We’re friends, and it ain’t strange for me to take a friend up to my room.”

Bucky laughs. “An’ I’m bettin’ it’d be just friendly if you took me up there.”

“This is pretty friendly,” Steve says, grinning at him. “But if I took you to my room? I’d wanna do a hell of a lot more than this.”

“Yeah?” Bucky mutters, his voice getting loose. “Got anything particular in mind?”

“You tell me,” Steve says, smirking at him. “I wanna see how you do it when I’m not around, remember?”

Bucky laughs, stroking himself slowly. “You think it’s all that different to the way you do it? Wanna compare notes?”

“Yer an idiot.” Steve’s voice is fond, and his gaze drops from Bucky’s mouth down to his crotch. “C’mon, Buck,” he murmurs. “Gimme a show.”

Bucky feels a little silly, but he’s not gonna let a shade of embarrassment stop him from giving this to Steve if it’s what he wants. He reaches down to pull his jeans and his underwear off all the way, kicking them across the floor, then gestures to the cooking oil on the kitchen table. 

"Hand me that, wouldya?"

Steve pulls a face, but he grabs the bottle anyway and twists the cap off. "Out of lube?"

"Actually yeah. Wanna know whose fault that was?"

"I was horny," Steve mutters, rolling his eyes. He reaches out to grab Bucky's hand and pours oil over his fingers. "That better?"

Bucky nods and wraps his slippery palm around his dick. "Yeah," he moans with with a slick, breathless sound, "god, that feels beautiful." He opens his eyes and finds Steve watching him with a dazed, hungry expression. “I think about yer mouth a lot,” he says, squeezing himself as he jacks off smooth and slow. Steve’s lips part a little in response, and Bucky’s gut surges with arousal. “That mouth is fuckin’ unrivalled, Stevie, I reckon y’could suck a ping pong ball through a straw-”

He barely gets the sentence out before Steve starts laughing. Bucky flashes him a feral smile and spreads his knees, reaching down to cup his balls with his left hand. 

"Speakin' of sucking balls," Steve teases, raising an eyebrow at him.

Bucky laughs breathlessly. "Be my guest."

Steve giggles. "Naw, you're doin' alright on yer own. Ain'tcha?"

"Hell yeah," Bucky moans, rocking his hips up into his fist. 

"You like me watchin'?"

Bucky gasps. "Yeah." He licks his lips; he's already getting close. "Almost as much as you like doin' it."

Steve chuckles softly. "You got me." He shifts his weight on the chair, reaching down to adjust himself in his shorts. "How you doin'?"

"Christ, I'm close," Bucky moans, moving his wrist faster. "Ain't gonna take much." He shuts his eyes, but through his feet he feels the scrape of Steve’s chair on the floor. 

There's a subtle shift in the air. Bucky senses Steve coming close right before he reaches out to touch. His fingers brush against the stubble on Bucky's cheek, then he throws his leg over Bucky’s thigh and sits down in his lap, knees spread to balance himself. 

“Get lonely?" Bucky whispers, nuzzling his jaw against Steve’s hand. 

Steve thumbs over Bucky's mouth, tugging at his bottom lip before leaning in to kiss it. "Don't stop," he murmurs, lips moving against Bucky's. 

"Yer a devil," Bucky gasps, sliding his free hand up Steve's thigh and wrapping it around his hip. 

“No touching,” Steve says, laughing as he pushes Bucky’s hand away. He drops his voice to his approximation of a gravelly whisper. "C'mon, Buck, c'mon and lemme feel you come-" Steve's shifting in his lap, getting in close to bite his neck. Up close, Bucky is overwhelmed by his familiar scent; sweat and sunshine, the clearasil wash he uses on his back, and the dusty smell of hay from the stables. He wouldn’t deny Steve much even if he could, so to have Steve pressed up against him - strong, slender thighs curled around his own - Bucky doesn’t really stand a chance.

“Fuuuck,” he breathes, tilting his head back. Steve mouths over his adam’s apple. “Aw, Stevie, c’mere sugar, fuck, c’mere angel, I’mma show - show you how good it can be - _fuck_ -”

He comes hard, his eyes screwed shut and Steve’s fingers dug into his hair, shivery breath in his ear. "Yeah, Bucky," Steve whispers in a shaky voice. "That was perfect. Yer perfect."

"You got low standards," Bucky says sleepily, cradling Steve's head against his neck with his clean hand.

Steve snorts softly, his breath stirring the hair on Bucky's neck. They sit there for a minute or two, breathing one another in, until eventually Steve stretches, raising his arms over his head with a wince. 

“I’ll just go wash up,” Bucky murmurs, brushing his lips over Steve’s temple. “Don’t you go anywhere.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve says into his shoulder. 

Bucky extricates himself and tiptoes to the bathroom to scrub himself clean of spunk before heading out to the hardware store. When he's done, he hauls his pants back on and steps out of the bathroom to find Steve sprawled on the bed, looking sweet and content. “Hey there,” Bucky says, walking over to him.

"Hey.” Steve grins and reaches for his hand. “Wanna make out some?"

Bucky laughs. "I really ain't got time," he says, but he lets Steve tug him onto the bed anyway. Rolling onto his back, he pulls Steve on top of him and slides his hands up under Steve’s shirt. For a second, it makes him tense up, and when Bucky crushes him close, he twists away with a muffled grunt.

"Careful," Steve says in a pained voice, trying to hide it. "Fell when I was riding Baxter yesterday."

"Baxter ain’t up for riding, he threw a shoe on Monday," Bucky says, and frowns when guilt flashes across Steve’s face. He grabs for Steve’s shirt and pulls it up to take a look. His ribs are black and blue on one side, turning red around the edges.

“Fuck, kiddo,” Bucky whispers, rage and concern jolting through him. He clenches his teeth for a moment, trying to keep his voice steady when he asks, “What happened this time?”

“Nothing, leave it,” Steve hisses, trying to wriggle away from him. 

Bucky roll him over and presses him down against the bed. He’s careful to avoid pressing on Steve’s ribs, but he still winces. “Tell me,” Bucky says, his voice cold and sharp. “Those assholes from before?” Steve turns his face away, his expression tight and angry, but he nods once. Bucky groans. “I’ll kill ‘em.”

“It’s Rumlow,” Steve mutters, his face tense. “It ain’t them really, he’s the one makin’ ‘em do it, spreadin’ shit about me.”

“ _What_ shit?”

Steve turns his eyes away. “It started after the party.” He sighs. “It ain’t so bad, not like I see ‘em all the time with school out.”

"Then where'd you see 'em?" Bucky growls. 

"Bucky, wouldya leave it alone?"

"Is it about me?"

Steve shakes his head. "Don't think anyone knows still."

"Then _what_?" Bucky snaps,before he catches himself, reels back his tone. Steve turns away from him, chewing his bottom lip anxiously. Bucky keeps his mouth shut for a minute, watching him and waiting for him to talk. With a sigh, Steve brushes his hair to one side, and Bucky suddenly clicks. Steve’s birthday. "It's about how you dress, ain't it?"

Steve hesitates a moment before nodding. The guilt and resignation on his face make Bucky feel like hurling. 

“Stevie, you know you ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong.”

“I _know_ that,” Steve hisses, still refusing to look at him. 

Bucky closes his eyes a moment and takes a breath. Steadies himself. “So, what, they just started hitting you for wearing a dress?”

Steve shrugs. “Fashion police. What can you do?”

“I’ve got a few ideas,” Bucky growls.

"No," Steve says sharply, rounding on him. "I can handle it, you don't need to get involved."

“Maybe not, but I-”

“ _Don’t_.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Fer chrissakes, Steve-”

“It’ll only make it worse,” Steve mutters angrily. “Right now they don’t know anythin’ about us, not fer sure. He knows I’ve messed around with some of the guys on the team, but he ain’t got the guts to go around shit talkin’ them at least. You ain’t from around here, you’d be an easy target.”

It surprises Bucky enough that he starts laughing. “Seriously, kiddo? You think I care about that?”

Steve’s mouth tightens. “How long d’you think it’d take before the whole town’s talkin’ about the pastor’s crazy son who thinks he’s a Barbie doll, and his big ol’ Ken doll from out of town?”

“Since when do you care-”

“I _don’t_ ,” Steve yells, and Bucky reels back a little. Steve’s expression is grim and resigned, and he can’t seem to meet Bucky’s eyes. 

“You-” Bucky’s voice sticks in his throat, and he has to swallow hard to get it loose. “You wanna stop all this?”

Steve looks up fast. “Do you?”

Bucky shakes his head a couple of times, trying to gather his thoughts. “I - I don’t wanna make trouble fer you. Or yer folks.”

“Bucky-” His name falls off Steve’s tongue in a hurried gasp, the sound choked to nothing when he scrambles his way into Bucky’s lap, all elbows and knees and grasping fingers. “Bucky _no_ -”

“I gotcha, kiddo,” Bucky says, reassuring himself just as much as Steve and wrapping him up in his arms. “I told ya, alright? You want me, I’ll be there.”

“Buck-” Steve nips at his mouth, and Bucky grabs him by his hair to kiss him, deep and longing. 

“I ain’t gonna let anyone else hurt you,” Bucky murmurs. He knows he must be squeezing Steve too tight, pressing uncomfortably on his damaged ribs, but he just can’t make himself let go. “Yer the best goddamn thing I got, Stevie, I ain’t giving that up.”

Steve groans, and Bucky feels him push forward against his belly, his dick jabbing Bucky’s abdomen. “Buck,” he gasps quietly. 

Carefully, Bucky presses him down onto his back and gets his fingers in the waistband of Steve’s shorts, mouth hovering just above his stomach. “Okay, sugar,” he says quietly, leaning down to poke at Steve’s bellybutton with the tip of his tongue. “We’re gonna practise using your safeword.”

“Huh?”

“You said you didn’t wanna do anything right now,” Bucky says, slowly unfastening Steve’s shorts and giving them a small tug. “If you mean that, you tell me to stop. What’re the words?”

Steve swallows loudly. “Apple pie.”

Bucky presses his face into Steve’s groin, inhales his sweet, grubby scent, and brushes his mouth against Steve’s dick through his underwear. “You wanna say it now?”

“Uh - ah, no,” Steve says softly. 

“And if you say it?”

Steve is quiet for a moment, then his voice comes, sounding slightly puzzled. “Then you’ll stop?”

“That’s right, honey.” Bucky clasps his mouth over the tip of Steve’s hard prick, rolling it on his tongue and getting his underwear nice and wet with spit. Steve makes a quiet, breathy sound. He tries to move his hips, but Bucky grabs them and flattens him to the mattress. “Don’t move, not unless yer gonna say it.”

“Buck - _Bucky_ -”

He pulls Steve’s underwear down and licks his prick from bottom to top, feeling the shudder of Steve’s hips under his hands as he struggles not to move. “I’m gonna hold you down and suck you until you come,” Bucky says, digging his thumbs in hard enough to bruise. “I ain’t gonna stop unless you tell me to. Gonna pull it all out of you, swallow down every drop-”

“Jesus an’ Mary,” Steve moans, his voice cresting higher still when Bucky takes the whole of his prick in his mouth. “H - holy fuckin’ Christ-”

Bucky pulls back to take a deep breath, then he lets his throat go slack and takes Steve all the way again. He whimpers loudly when his dick hits the back of Bucky’s throat, and his thighs start to tremble under Bucky’s arms. Glancing up, he can see that Steve’s eyes are shut and his head is tipped back, his mouth open and working like he can’t catch his breath. Bucky reaches up and pinches Steve’s left nipple through his shirt. With a noisy curse, Steve bucks his hips up, earning him a slap on the thigh. He grabs hold of Bucky’s wrist with both of his hands and bites down on his knuckle, then he pulls one of Bucky’s fingers into his mouth and starts sucking on it.

It doesn’t take long after that; Steve never takes much to come when he’s got something to suck on, and Bucky swallows down the bitter mess on the back of his tongue just like he promised. He realizes it’s the first time he didn’t even think to use a condom, and he gives himself a mental kick for that. He knows better. Steve, God love him, whatever Bucky may feel for him, his sheets ain’t exactly white anymore. 

“Buck,” Steve whispers, reaching out a lazy hand to him. Bucky links their fingers, and moves to curl up beside him. 

“You okay?”

Steve nods, turning to hide his face in Bucky’s neck. “You ain’t leavin’ me,” he mumbles, almost too low for Bucky to hear. “That ain’t happening.”

Bucky smiles and runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. “That’s right, kiddo. You’re stuck with me.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh people, we are approaching the dramatic climax at last. Buckle up.

**Now**

  
_I just might say it tonight_  
_I just might tell you tonight_  
_That I love you_  
_And you should stay all my life_  


Scissor Sisters - Might Tell You Tonight

“You remember Rumlow?” 

Steve makes a face. “Like I’m gonna forget _that_ fucking asshole,” he says, grimly. His face softens when he looks back at Bucky. “So, unfortunately, yeah.”

Grief makes a fist in Bucky’s stomach, the knowledge that it’s gonna be the last time Steve ever looks at him without judging him for what he did. He takes in a deep breath and holds it for a second. Steve’s eyes rest heavy on him, watching him with expectation. Bucky wishes he had the guts to tell Steve how he feels - still feels - about him, before he says anything, but he knows that wouldn’t be fair. “You ever wonder why he left town around the same time I did?” 

“He went to college,” Steve says, but his expression doesn’t settle into a fond smile at Bucky asking a dumb question. “Why’s that matter?”

Bucky shakes his head. He fists his hands against his thighs, remembering suddenly that he still ain’t got his jeans on, and wonders if he ought to have gotten dressed for this. Steve notices his hesitation, and reaches out to touch his wrist, but Bucky moves his arm away before he gets there. “He wasn’t at college, Stevie.”

Steve stares at him. He licks his lips nervously. “Then what?” 

“Didn’t I tell you,” Bucky says, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “Didn’t I say I’d kill him if he touched you again?”

**Then**

_Hey babe, your hair's alright_  
Hey babe, let's stay out tonight  
You like me, and I like it all  
We like dancing and we look divine  
You love bands when they're playing hard  
You want more and you want it fast 

David Bowie - Rebel Rebel

“Fetch yer dancin’ shoes, honey,” Bucky says, flopping down beside Steve in the long grass.

“Why? We goin’ somewhere?”

Bucky stretches his hand out and rubs his palm over Steve’s belly, moving up to trace his ribs with his fingertips. Steve smiles with his eyes closed and arches into the touch like a sleepy cat. “Takin’ you on a real date,” Bucky says, rolling closer so he can nuzzle Steve’s jaw. “Clint recommended this bar, not too far away, but far enough. Shouldn’t run into anyone we know.” He waits a moment, and when Steve doesn’t reply beyond a sleepy noise of agreement, he goes on, “You could wear whatever you want.”

Steve finally cracks an eye open to look at him. “You want me to get all dolled up?”

“Well, I wanna dance with you.” Bucky watches Steve turn towards him, his face coming together in a small frown. “You think I can dance with you in a small town bar lookin’ like this?” he teases, “all short hair and scabbed knees and shit talk?”

“Watch it,” Steve says, his wary expression cracking into a grin. 

Bucky kisses the smile right off him. "Sweetheart you know I don't give a shit, I'd dance with you lookin' like a boy, a girl, or anythin' in between." Steve chuckles, stroking the stubble on Bucky’s jaw with a dopey look on his face. "I'd dance with ya naked or in a clown costume or painted bright purple."

Steve bursts out laughing, rolling away from Bucky to throw his head back against the grass. It warms Bucky right through just to watch him laugh, admiring the soft flesh of his throat, the freckles on his shoulders and across his cheeks. Steve's whole body is shaking with his laughter, utterly carefree for once. 

"Hey," Bucky says at last, when Steve's giggles are finally subsiding. He pokes him gently in the ribs. "You okay? It wasn't _that_ funny."

"Yeah." Steve huffs out contentedly and turns to face him again, tucking his face into Bucky’s shoulder. "Just sometimes I can't believe how great you are."

"'Long as you don't go forgettin'," Bucky teases.

"Can I invite Natasha?"

Bucky runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. "Sure, honey. I could ask Clint along too?"

Steve leans back and gives him a smile. "Yeah! I like Clint."

Bucky rolls over and trails his fingers lightly along Steve's ribs. Steve sighs into him, and Bucky takes the opportunity while he's sedate and distracted to start tickling him. "You just like him 'cause he treats ya like a lady and don't call yer bullshit." 

“Bucky!” Steve yelps, trying to scramble away from him. Bucky hooks him around the waist to drag him back, and Steve rolls on top of him, laughing. “Ya stupid hick,” he says, planting his hands on Bucky’s arms to pin them down. “I _like_ that you don’t take shit from me, you know that.”

“I’ll remind you’a that next time you get sore at me,” Bucky says fondly, pulling him down to kiss him. 

 

 

Nat and Steve are waiting on her porch when Clint and Bucky roll up in Clint's truck the next evening. 

"Holy-" Bucky murmurs, when he catches sight of Steve. He's wearing a little grey dress, with a belt to give the illusion of more curves than he really owns, and a black leather jacket. Overall it makes him look more like the promise of trouble he really is.

Clint lets out a low whistle. "Your girl cleans up real nice," he says, nudging Bucky in the arm with his elbow.

Bucky pulls the dopey look off his face. "Yeah," he says, grinning at him. "She sure does." They both climb out, and Bucky stares while the two of them make their way down to the street. Natasha looks beautiful too, of course, but Bucky can barely takes his eyes off Steve. Clint opens the door, but Natasha just smiles at him before walking around to the other side of the truck and climbing in. 

“Nice girl,” Clint says, grinning.

Bucky ain’t listening. “Hey, kitten,” he breathes, when Steve gets close. He wants to reach out and hold him, but now might not be the best moment. Instead, he fishes in his pocket for a hair tie and pulls his hair up into a ponytail, even though he spent almost an hour before he left putting it up and then letting it down again. Steve just smirks at him like he knows all that anyway, and Bucky gets distracted by the hint of blush on his cheeks, and dark smudged around his eyes, making them look huge and bright blue. “Christ,” Bucky whispers, leaning in anyway to kiss his cheek. He presses his mouth to the shell of Steve’s ear and smiles. “Yer gonna break hearts, ya know that?”

“Get yer butt in this truck, Barnes!” Clint yells, climbing in and slamming his door.

Bucky starts to turn away, but Steve grabs hold of his belt and pulls him back. “Hey, I gotta tell you somethin’ first,” he says in a low, dirty voice.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky purrs, slipping his arm around Steve’s waist. 

“I’m wearin’ those panties ya got me,” Steve mutters, pushing against him. “The bra too. Looks real pretty under this dress.”

Bucky groans quietly. “Christ, Stevie-”

“Sure y’wouldn’t rather head home?”

“Nuh uh,” Bucky says, even though it takes every ounce of willpower he owns. He shepherds Steve towards the open door of the truck. “I said we’re goin’ dancin’, and that’s what we’re doin’.”

 

 

The bar’s fairly crowded, enough that nobody really looks twice at them. They grab a table over in one corner, and Steve and Clint keep up a steady stream of chatter that borders between politely flirtatious and jokingly hostile. Bucky gets the sense that Steve is feeling him out for Natasha, who watches them all in turn with quiet amusement. Her gaze is way too penetrating for an eighteen year old. Bucky eyes her and Steve.

“Y’all’re definitely eighteen, right?” They nod, and Clint gets a nervous look. He’s designated driver, so he just gets to watch this unfold. “Fine,” he says, getting up. “One drink each. What’s yer poison?”

They both light up, then they confer quietly between themselves before both just asking for beer. Bucky leaves them to go order the drinks, wrestling his way through the cheerful crowd. Most of the crush seems to be around the bar, people waiting on drinks from the harassed looking bar staff, so Bucky finds a spot he can lean his elbows and gets comfortable. 

It’s almost ten minutes later when he turns back from the bar with the drinks in hand, and straightaway catches sight of Steve’s shiny blonde wig. He starts to smile instinctively, but his gut lurches with nervous anticipation when he sees that Steve ain't alone. Clint must have gone for a smoke or to take a leak, because Steve and Natasha have attracted a group of three dumb looking assholes, and they look mighty unimpressed about it. 

"Hey," Bucky says when he walks over, throwing his voice a shade lower, a hint of possessive that ain't really in his nature. He sets the drinks on the table, freeing up his hands, just in case. "Fun's over now, fellas, these girls're here with me." Steve flashes him him a warning look, and Bucky frowns, not quite catching on. "You alright, Stevie?"

He turns to glance over the faces of the assholes, and he feels a nasty twist in his belly when he realizes they look familiar. 

"Stevie?" says one of them, with a cruel, gleeful expression dawning on his face. "Wait, _Rogers?"_

Bucky looks quickly at Steve, who ignores him and raises his chin defiantly. Bucky realizes then just how badly he's fucked up. He recognizes them, this one anyway. 

"Rumlow," Steve says in a low, dangerous tone.

"Still trying to be a little bitch for your backwater mutt, huh?" Rumlow says with a lazy grin. He glances around the grubby dive bar. "At least you know where you belong."

"Hey, back off," Bucky snaps, stepping between them just as Steve starts yelling. 

Rumlow and his two monkey faced goons back away, still looking pleased with themselves, although Bucky is busy wrestling Steve behind him so that he won't go chasing after them. "Easy," he says, turning to Steve once he's certain they're gone. 

"Dammit, Bucky," Steve snaps, "lemme go-"

Bucky steps back, and Steve spends a moment collecting himself; straightens his dress and combs his fingers through his hair. Natasha leans close to mutter something to him, and Steve nods quickly. 

"You wanna go?" Bucky asks, reaching out to touch his hand. 

Steve pulls his arm back, almost flinching away from him. "No," he says, then again more calmly, "no, it's fine. They've seen me now anyway."

"C'mon," Bucky says, holding his hand out this time. "Dance with me?"

"S'long as you don't embarrass me, farmboy," Steve says, warming to Bucky's flirting and finally taking his hand. "I got a reputation to think of."

Bucky pulls Steve into his arms, letting his palm settle in the small of his back. "I've heard about your reputation, alright," Bucky says, ducking low to mutter in his ear. "Heard you screwed half the football team."

"Yer makin' it up," Steve drawls against his neck, sounding smug.

"I ain't. Rumor goes you'll do it anywhere-"

"Bucky-" Steve says quietly, almost asking him to stop, but not quite. 

"In a barn, back of a pickup-"

Steve laughs. " _Bucky_ -" 

"You gonna deny it?"

"Why don'tcha take me home an' see?"

"See, I knew you were easy."

Steve shakes his head against Bucky's arm. "Only fer people I think are worth my time."

"Goddamn, I'm the luckiest son of a bitch alive, meeting you-" He trails off, because Steve has gone rigid in his arms, looking somewhere over Bucky's left shoulder. "Stevie? What is it?"

"Nothing," Steve says, shaking his head. Bucky tries to turn them smoothly so that he can look without craning his neck, but Steve catches on right away. "Dammit, Bucky," he grumbles. "It's just Rumlow is all. He's found someone else to annoy."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Why don't that surprise me."

“Hey, could ya fetch me some water?” Steve asks suddenly, pulling away from him a little. “I’m gonna sit down a minute.”

“You alright?” Bucky asks, concern pulling his expression into a frown. 

He touches Steve’s jaw with his knuckles. Steve shrugs him off. “Fine. Just gotta - maybe get some air with Natasha.”

Bucky nods. “I’ll be right out.”

 

 

Right out, as it turns out, ain’t soon enough. Bucky finds Clint looking lost at the bar and greets him with an arm around his shoulder. 

“What happened to the girls?”

“Gettin’ some air,” Bucky says, with a grim look. He glances up at Clint’s face and his eyes widen when he spots the swollen cheekbone, the start of a bruise there. “Where’d you get to?”

Clint shakes his head. “Don’t ask.” He glances to the door. “Sorry, I guess this place was a bad call.”

“Night’s not over yet,” Bucky says, ruffling his hair. They banter a little while they’re waiting to catch the attention of the bar staff, Bucky trying to cover his anxiety about Steve. Clint studiously avoids revealing who punched him. Eventually they manage to get some water, and when a quick sweep of the bar shows no sign of either Steve or Natasha, they head for the door.

Outside, there's still no sign of them. Clint looks around. "You think they went back to the truck?"

He starts off in the direction of the truck, but Bucky snags the back of Clint's shirt and tilts his head. "You hear that?"

Clint scowls at him. "Obviously n-"

Bucky turns quickly at the sound of heavy gym bags hitting the ground, because he knows the sound of a prone body getting kicked. His fears are confirmed when the sound is followed by anxious voices, then a furious shout of pain and another noise like a glass of water spilled on concrete. A punch to the face. Bucky bolts for the alleyway at the same time as he hears footsteps running in the opposite direction. 

When he rounds the corner, Natasha is on her hands and knees over Steve, who's crumpled on the ground like a broken doll, chest heaving with an ominous, labored tone. 

"I need to sit him up," she says thickly when she sees Bucky, then she turns and spits out blood. 

"Wait," Bucky says. He drops to his knees in the dirt, reaching to touch Steve’s face carefully. “Stevie, honey? Can you hear me?”

Steve’s eyes roll up to look at him, wide and frightened. He’s making an urgent, wheezing sound, his throat whining as he tries to gasp for breath. “Get the truck!” Bucky yells over his shoulder to Clint. Then, quietly to Steve, “you got your inhaler, kitten?”

Watching his face for the answer, Bucky starts checking him over quickly, making sure he doesn't have any obvious injuries. "Nat, check his pockets, wouldya? It's a blue inhaler"

"I know, I already looked for it." She pats over the pockets on Steve's jacket anyway, wincing when she comes up empty handed. "You know what you're doing?" Natasha's voice is brisk and anxious, so Bucky gives her a brief smile. 

"First response training," he says, turning his attention back to Steve. "And getting in a lot of fights." He gets his arm under Steve’s shoulders and drags him up to to a sitting position. "Pretty sure nothing's broken. I'm gonna get you in the truck, honey, just hang on."

The nearest hospital is only a ten minute drive away. Steve's finally breathing halfway normal by the time they arrive, although he still hasn't said much apart from muttered curse words. He's shaking when Bucky insists on helping him out of the truck. Thanks to the asthma he gets seen quickly; Bucky and Natasha wait outside the room while Clint parks

Bucky sinks into a chair to wait. “You see what happened?” Natasha nods, and Bucky’s jaw clenches. “You gonna tell me?”

She sighs heavily. “The first time, when you were at the bar, Rumlow tried to pick him up.”

Bucky stares at her, convinced he can’t have heard right. “You mean-”

“Grabbed his ass, tried to give him a beer, the whole show.”

“You’re kiddin’, right?”

“Didn’t recognize him.” She smirks. “I think Steve’s a little pleased about that, despite how it turned out.” Natasha runs her fingers through her tangled hair with a sigh. "Anyway, they came out looking for him, and apparently didn’t think we were much of a threat. I think we were probably winning," she says, starting to laugh. "Steve tried to throttle Rumlow with his wig."

Bucky's startled into laughing too, feeling warm with pride. "Sounds like my Stevie."

She nods. "But then one of 'em twisted his shoulder, got him on his knees, and Rumlow hit him in the chest." Nat shakes her head grimly. "Probably would've kept kicking him if he hadn't started having an asthma attack. They panicked, ran."

Bucky pushes up from his seat and starts to stalk back and forth, fisting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “That piece of shit,” he mutters, scowling at the floor. “Who the _fuck_ does he think he is?”

“Rumlow’s always been a nasty piece of work,” Nat says with a sigh. Bucky glances at her; she’s got a split lip and the makings of a black eye, but Bucky’s got no doubt that the other guy came off worse. “Trouble is,” she goes on, frowning, “he and Steve have known each other since middle school. They were friends, so Rumlow knows all the right buttons to push.”

Bucky stops dead and turns to look at her. “Wait, what? They were _friends_?”

She shrugs. “Until Steve worked out that Rumlow just liked having smaller friends around to make him feel bigger in comparison. Someone he could keep under his thumb. He bit off more than he could chew with Steve.”

Bucky starts laughing. “You can say that again.” He glances over at the door, before taking the seat beside her again with a groan. 

“Hey, Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m real glad he’s got you. You’re good for him.” He must look surprised, because she rolls her good eye, then punches him in the arm. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

Bucky grabs his arm, wincing. “Secret’s safe with me,” he says, smiling weakly. 

“Good.” Nat cracks a grin. “Also, he says you’re _incredible_ in bed.”

Something about Natasha makes him self-conscious like nothing else, and Bucky’s surprised to feel himself blushing a little. He swallows down his modesty and draws on a shit-eating grin. “He’s right.” He nudges her shoulder with his own. “But we’re changin’ the subject now.”

Nat shrugs. “Alright then. Tell me more about Clint.”

“Too old for ya. Next question?”

“Fine. What’s rimming?”

Bucky laughs loudly, and they both get a dirty look from the charge nurse. “I can see why Steve likes you.”

"Talkin' behind my back?" Steve says in a croaky voice, stepping out of the exam room.

Bucky’s on his feet at once and wrapping Steve up in a hug. “Christ, you scared me,” he mutters.

“Bucky, ow, ow-!”

“Sorry, sorry.” He pulls back quickly.

Steve looks up at him, rubbing his left shoulder and smiling ruefully. “Don’t look like that,” he says, but the weariness in his eyes is obvious. “I’m fine.”

“Shut up, Steve,” Natasha says from behind him, nudging Bucky out of the way so she can drag him into a hug. “Don’t _fucking_ do that to me.” Steve winces, but wisely doesn’t complain about how hard she’s grabbing him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says sheepishly, awkwardly petting her hair.

Natasha huffs. “You’d fuckin’ better be.” 

They make their way out front to meet Clint, who drops Natasha at her place, and then drives them back to his own house where Bucky’s pickup is parked. Steve, half asleep from the drive, just offers a sleepy wave before climbing into the passenger side, but Bucky hangs back a moment.

“I’m real sorry about tonight,” Clint says, hanging his head. “It was a stupid suggestion.”

Bucky shakes his head and claps him on the shoulder. “No, pal, it wasn’t yer fault those assholes showed up. They’d’ve caused trouble the next time they saw Stevie no matter what.” Clint still looks unconvinced, so Bucky pulls back and punches him lightly in the shoulder. “You gonna tell me what happened to yer face?”

Clint laughs bitterly. “My ex-wife was there too. Bad idea all round, I guess.”

“Ouch,” Bucky says, wincing in sympathy. “Put some ice on that, yeah? I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

“Take care of that spitfire o’ yers,” Clint says, already backing away. “Night, Bucky.”

 

 

The pickup rolls into the yard and Bucky kills the engine. Neither of them has said a word since they left the hospital, and Steve’s the first one to break the silence.

“Buck?” he mutters, small and anxious. “You alright? You ain’t mad, are ya?”

“Mad?” Bucky says, disbelief choking him. He shakes his head and reaches out to brush his fingers against Steve's cheek. "No, I ain't mad. Christ, Stevie, I was worried sick."

"I wish you hadn't had t'see that," Steve murmurs, glancing away.

"Well I'm glad I did," Bucky growls. "I see that piece of shit again I'll rip him apart." Steve huffs, though whatever he's feeling, Bucky can't guess.  
"Sure yer alright now?"

Steve smiles and tips his head into Bucky's palm, nuzzling against his wrist with his mouth. "I'm fine, Buck. Thanks fer takin' care of me."

"You're sure y'won't let me get your parents?"

"Don't you dare," Steve says, groaning. "They'll just fuss, I can't stand it."

Bucky slides his fingers around to the back of Steve's neck, cradling his head gently. "You oughta get some rest."

Steve shakes his head again, his eyes heavy and sleepy. He mouths at Bucky's wrist, dragging his lips over the pulse point. "Take me to bed?"

"I ain't takin' you up to that cabin, the dust'll be hell on yer lungs."

"No, upstairs," Steve says, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Ma might still be up, but you can get in through the window."

Bucky groans and leans away from him. "Christ, yer gonna be the death of me."

"But what a way to go, huh?" Steve murmurs, pressing into him.

"Fine, fine, but just for a little while."

Steve heads inside, probably says goodnight to his momma, brushes his teeth. Bucky paces around the yard for five minutes until he sees the light come on in Steve's bedroom, then he starts to scale the side of the house. He's seen Steve scamper up and down the old trellis a dozen times, but he's more than a little heavier than Steve, so he's not totally sure it's gonna take his weight. The old wood creaks, but it holds under his grip, and a minute later he scrambles over the edge of the porch roof and crawls up to the window.

It's already open, the shutters flung wide to let him in. Bucky hitches himself over the windowsill carefully and sits down on the window bench to slip off his boots. He doesn't wanna arouse any suspicion with his footsteps on the floorboards, so he gently sets the boots down at the edge of the room. When he looks up, he finds Steve sitting in the middle of his bed, a queen size with a huge patchwork quilt spread over it. The walls are covered with drawings, prints and postcards. It's a mess too, with clothes strewn all over the floor and spilling out of the closet.

"Hi," Steve says quietly. Bucky smiles and tiptoes over to him. He sits on the end of the bed, not quite close enough to touch.

"Hey, cute stuff.”

Steve reaches out for him. “Get over here, Buck.”

“You lock the door?” he whispers, as he pulls off his jacket and hooks it on the bedpost. 

“The lock’s broke,” Steve says, shrugging. “I stuck a chair under the handle.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’ll just stay a little while anyways.”

“Yeah, you said.” Steve’s already taken his dress off and is sitting there in his pretty underwear, just like he promised. Bucky goes to pull off his jeans, while Steve reaches up to remove his bra. He gets one arm free, then he swears and curls in on himself, hissing in pain. 

“Here, let me get that,” Bucky says, kicking his jeans away. Steve mutters a complaint, but he doesn’t struggle when Bucky gently reaches around to unfasten the hooks. He works the other strap carefully over Steve's injured shoulder. When he’s free of it, Bucky eases his arm around Steve’s waist and kisses lightly around his bruises. “There ya go.”

Steve sighs. “Thanks.” He turns his face up to Bucky, his eyes soft and hazy. “Y’gonna kiss me, ya big lug?”

Bucky grins at him. “You oughta get some rest.”

“Soon,” Steve promises, leaning towards him. “But first I need a goodnight kiss.”

“Lie down then,” Bucky whispers, and reaches over to peel back the blankets so Steve can climb under them. He looks up at Bucky expectantly, and Bucky scrambles in too, tugging the quilt up to cover Steve’s pale shoulder. “Oughta turn out the light,” he says, before he puts his head on the pillow. “So your parents think yer sleepin’.”

Steve nods, and Bucky reaches over his head to turn out the lamp on the nightstand. In the darkness, he can hear Steve’s breathing, more labored than usual from the aftereffects of his asthma attack, and he reaches to chuck Steve’s chin with the crook of his index finger. “You okay, kiddo?”

“Glad you’re here,” Steve murmurs, moving a little closer to him. “Now kiss me already.”

Laughing softly, Bucky shuffles across the pillow and kisses him. He moves his fingers up to stroke the delicate curl of Steve’s right ear, then pushes back to drag through his hair. Steve makes a soft noise and opens his mouth, letting Bucky nudge at his bottom lip with his tongue. His hand comes to rest on Bucky’s hip, and his fingers curl into his shirt to hold him close. Bucky feels like he’d forgotten how good it could feel to just kiss Steve; they’re usually in such a rush to get each other off, they don’t often spend a lot of time just making out. And with lips like Steve’s, that’s kinda criminal.

“I ain’t gonna break,” Steve whispers against his mouth. His breath is sweet with the taste of mouthwash, and Bucky cups his face so he can nuzzle his lips against Steve’s cheek.

“Maybe I wanna take it slow for once,” he says quietly. “Treat you right.”

Steve huffs, almost like he’s annoyed, but he turns his face into the pillow, and Bucky realizes he’s embarrassed. While he hides, Bucky kisses the long, open curve of his neck, following it down to the fragile shape of his ribcage. With a soft noise of longing, Steve presses up against him, straining his neck further to expose more skin for Bucky to taste. 

“That’s good, honey,” Bucky murmurs, running his fingers down Steve’s ribs. The touch makes Steve shiver, and he reaches up over his head with his right arm to grab hold of the pillow, stretching himself out like a cat begging to be petted. Bucky pushes two fingertips under the lace edge of the panties pressing against Steve’s thigh, making him gasp loudly. “Shh,” Bucky whispers, smiling to himself as he slithers down the bed. Steve’s prick is bulging at the little panties, listing to one side and pulling at the fabric so that his dark blond hair peeks out over the top. Bucky has to smother a moan of his own when he drags his tongue over the soft cotton, drawing up the heat of Steve’s prick. 

“Oh god, Bucky, yeah-”

He slides the panties down at the back, cups Steve’s ass in his palm and kneads at the meager flesh in encouragement. Not that Steve needs the slightest encouragement to push back against him, begging him with the urgent rocking of his hips for Bucky to touch him. 

“Let’s get these off you, shall we?” Bucky murmurs, unhooking the fabric from where it’s caught over the head of Steve’s dick, and tugging them down over his thighs. 

Steve wriggles out of them awkwardly, and Bucky moves back up to kiss him, cupping Steve’s face close to his. “I want-” Steve gasps against Bucky’s mouth, “I want you in my mouth, please-”

Bucky pulls him close by his waist with a soft laugh. “How about together, huh?” 

Nodding, Steve turns to scramble through his drawer for condoms, tossing one to Bucky before pulling one on himself. Bucky would laugh at his eagerness but he’s just as desperate to be close to Steve now. He turns around once they’re properly dressed up, tugging Steve close by his hips and pulling the end of his prick into his mouth. Steve smothers his moans against Bucky’s hip, and drags his lips loosely over the skin there until he can bury his nose in Bucky’s pubes, cupping his dick against his cheek while he just breathes him in. With a quiet, contented sigh, Steve starts to suck him greedily, and Bucky hums in pleasure, wrapping his hands around Steve’s hips so he can control the pace. He already knows he wants to take this as slow as they can bear, so when he feels Steve start to tremble and thrust out of time, Bucky pulls off and runs his tongue over Steve’s hip instead.

“No, no,” Steve whispers desperately, clutching at him. “Bucky, please, I’m so _close_.”

“I know,” Bucky says, nipping at his belly. “An’ you tell me if you get there again, ‘cause I’m gonna make this last.”

“Fuck,” Steve moans quietly. “You’re evil, shit. Alright, fine.”

Bucky teases him again slowly, pulling him right to the edge, until he’s shaking hard and babbling in a harsh whisper about how close he is, and then Bucky pulls away again. Steve turns to howl into the pillow, and Bucky gives his thigh a short, sharp slap.

“You alright, Steve?”

They both freeze at the sound of Pastor Rogers’ voice, coming from right outside the door. 

“Fine, Dad!” Steve calls out in a shaky voice. “It was just a dream.”

“Alright, you want me to fetch you anything?”

“No!” Steve shouts quickly, and Bucky nudges him, scowling. “Uh, I’m fine!”

The Pastor laughs, and moves away again. “Alright, goodnight, Steve.”

“Yeah, night Dad.”

The floorboards creak loudly as he moves away, and Steve covers his face and swears under his breath. “Christ, they couldn’t’ve started creaking before?”

It’s maybe the worst moment to catch the giggles, but Bucky can’t help himself. Something about the way Steve says it just tickles him, and a snort of laughter escapes before he can stop it. Steve goes wide eyed for a moment, then he starts to smile, and the two of them scramble under the blankets so they can muffle their laughter in the sheets. They lie as still as they can under the quilt, trying to get themselves under control while the Pastor goes to take a leak, then pads back across the hallway to bed. 

“Maybe I oughta go,” Bucky whispers, but he’s barely finished saying it when Steve pulls him down with a muttered sound of dissent. 

“Please stay,” he whispers, clutching at Bucky with sharp fingertips. 

Smiling, Bucky traces his lips over Steve’s chest, just barely brushing against his skin, and Steve suppresses a shudder. “Turn over, sweetheart,” he murmurs, skimming his fingers over Steve’s thigh. 

Nodding eagerly, Steve rolls onto his belly, and hitches his ass up when Bucky taps the side of his thigh. Bucky kisses his tailbone, spreads his skinny ass cheeks with his palms. “Bucky,” Steve whines, “I ain’t washed since yesterday.”

“That don’t matter,” Bucky mutters, pressing his hand on the small of Steve’s back and stroking it over his skin gently. He glances around and catches sight of a pack of face wipes poking out of the drawer of Steve’s nightstand. He’s only seen Steve dare to come out in makeup a couple of times, but he knows Natasha has been showing him how to paint it on properly. Bucky still likes him best without, but he can’t deny it’s a hell of a rush when Steve smudges his lipstick around Bucky’s dick, looking up at him with dark brown kohl scrawled around his pretty eyes. He grabs the face wipes and pulls a couple out, then leans down to drop another kiss on Steve’s tailbone. 

“Christ, Bucky,” Steve whispers, pushing back a little. Bucky moves his hand down from Steve’s back and pulls his ass cheeks apart, swiping up between them with the face wipe over the tip of his pointer finger. He feels the quiver of sensation that burns through Steve, the sound he wants to make but doesn’t, and Bucky twists his hand to get a better angle. He goes slow, cleaning Steve up carefully and lovingly, pushing inside Steve’s ass with just the tip of his finger to get him clean and sweet. Steve makes fists in the sheets and tenses up all over, letting out a long sigh. 

“You okay there, darlin’?”

Steve huffs with laughter. “This is kinda warped, Buck.”

Bucky grins. “You bet.” He finishes up and tosses the wipes in the direction of the bin, using the sheet to dry Steve off roughly. Crouching down, he digs his thumbs into the meagre flesh of Steve’s ass cheeks and pulls them apart enough so he can get his tongue in there. Steve thumps one of his fists into the pillow, and Bucky can feel him forcing himself to relax. “You okay, kitten?” he whispers.

Steve shoves his ass back with a groan. “Less _talking_.”

Bucky laughs under his breath, and Steve shivers at the sensation of warm breath over his hole. Taking note of his reaction, Bucky licks his thumb and rubs it over the twitching knot of skin, then blows on it gently. Steve drops his chest to the mattress, whimpering. Bucky darts in again with his tongue: soft, delicate touches meant to keep Steve strung tight, but not enough to come. Steve just takes it all with silent, trembling acceptance, at least until he tries to reach underneath himself to grab his dick. Bucky seizes his palm and pins it to the bed. 

“No,” he growls, and Steve shudders hard.

“Please,” Steve moans, “please, fuck me?”

Bucky frowns, and starts to press kisses up Steve’s spine. “You ain’t asked me yet, so I wasn't sure if you'd want to, but you know we could do it the other way if you want?”

“What way?” 

Steve sounds strung out and distracted, and Bucky goes on in a fond voice, “I mean,” he says, covering Steve’s body with his own, “that you can fuck me, if you wanna.”

“ _Oh._ ” Steve pushes up against him, and Bucky slips an arm around his waist. His dick rubs up against Steve’s ass, and _Jesus_ he wants to screw him, but he wouldn’t mind all that much if Steve said yes to the other thing. No reason even that they can’t do both. “I didn’t know you’d want that,” Steve says at last. “I’ve never - I mean, I want to, but-”

“Another time?”

Steve nods, and Bucky kisses the back of his neck gently, nuzzling at his sweaty hair. “Okay, doll. You want it in you?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, and Bucky reaches over to grab the lube and then fusses with the condom; he’s softened up a little, making the condom wrinkle up, going loose, and he frowns before pulling it off regretfully. “You - you could go without, if you want,” Steve says, shyly.

Bucky groans loudly, and cuts himself off again fast. “Sweetheart I want to, you got no idea.” He shuffles forward and rubs the head of his dick up against Steve’s crack, pushing at his hole. “Christ, I’d love to do you bare, I really would-”

“So do it,” Steve mumbles, pushing back, his voice half command and half sleepy nonsense.

Instead of replying, Bucky just rolls on a new rubber. Much as he jokes about Steve being a loose cannon in terms of his sexual history, Bucky’s just as worried about his own. It’s too long since he got checked out, and he’d never forgive himself if he got Steve sick. He sits up when he’s ready and grabs hold of Steve’s hips to haul them higher again. While he slicks up his fingers on both hands, he flickers his tongue over Steve’s hole again, making him gasp, then he pushes right in with the first two fingers of his left hand. Steve shoves his fist in his mouth to keep himself quiet, and Bucky reaches around with his other hand to tug on Steve’s dick, his touch gentle ‘cause he’s pretty sure Steve can’t take much more teasing. 

Steve keeps on whispering, begging Bucky to go faster, harder, but Bucky just keeps on fingering him slow and gentle, rubbing him off with the lightest touch, until suddenly Steve's ass clenches around his hand, surprising him both with his orgasm. 

“Fuuuuck,” he moans, “fuck me, put your dick in me, Bucky, _fuck me_ -” The rest is muffled, Steve cutting himself off by clamping his mouth around his wrist. Bucky wrings the last of it out of him, Steve twisting in his arms like a livewire until he can’t anymore, and collapses onto his belly. 

Bucky pulls Steve onto his side and spoons up against him before slowly pushing inside him. Steve utters a soft noise, exhaling warmly, but otherwise he’s like a rag doll in Bucky’s arms. 

“There ya go, sweetheart,” Bucky moans, kissing Steve’s shoulder as he pulls out slowly and pushes back in again. “I gotcha, honey. Goddamn, you feel good, you’re a fuckin’ miracle, ya know that?”

Steve doesn’t respond, and Bucky pushes himself up on his elbow, halting his lazy thrusts. “Stevie?”

“Mm?”

Bucky’s fingers are still sticky with lube and spunk, but he grabs Steve’s chin and turns his face to the moonlight. His eyes slide open halfway, but he looks dazed and feverish. “Stevie,” Bucky hisses, his voice growing more urgent. “Hey, you okay?” He digs his fingers into Steve’s jaw, and Steve huffs and tries half-heartedly to bat him off.

“Quit it, Buck,” he slurs. 

Bucky groans in relief. “Y’scared me, you idiot.”

“Hm?”

“Think you came so hard you passed out,” Bucky says, laughing a little hysterically. Steve shrugs and shifts his weight, which brings him down hard on Bucky’s dick, making them both moan. 

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Steve sobs, “you’re _inside_ me, aw fuck, Bucky please-”

Swallowing the last of his anxiety, Bucky clutches Steve close and fucks into him with long, agonizingly slow strokes. Steve’s orgasm has knocked loose his volume control entirely, and Bucky has to put a hand over his mouth to shut him up, but that makes it tricky to maintain the pace. Instead, he pulls over a pillow and offers it to Steve. 

“Here, honey,” he urges gently. “You’ll wake yer folks, caterwaulin’ like that. Bite down on this if you gotta scream.”

Steve grabs hold of the pillow with a breathless word of thanks, and shoves it between his teeth. The worst part is how _bad_ Bucky wants to hear him, but it’s almost as good listening to him struggle to hold all that noise inside him. The good thing about getting him off first is Steve won’t be so desperate for it, won’t try and ride Bucky like a damn nag in a steeplechase, eager to reach the finish line as soon as possible. He’s one bossy little shit, but Bucky can’t help loving that about him. 

“That feel good, angel?” he murmurs, brushing his sticky fingertips over Steve’s throat. He nuzzles in under his ear, careful not to press down on his injured shoulder. 

Slowly, Steve edges the pillow out of his mouth just enough to gasp, “Uh huh,” nodding his head vaguely. Bucky waits until he’s got it back between his teeth before pushing in again, filling him up. 

They move slowly, blissfully warm and close, rocking together under Steve’s soft sheets until they’re sticky all over with sweat, struggling to keep themselves quiet. It feels like maybe fifteen minutes have passed, but when Bucky looks over at the alarm clock, it’s been more than an hour. He’s had to lube up again a couple of times, and Steve’s so wet and loose it’s like screwing a girl, but he still hadn’t realized it had been so long. He’s come real close to blowing his load a couple of times, forcing himself to slow down and claw his way back from the edge each time, but he’s not sure he could hold it back again if he had to. 

“Stevie,” he whispers, reaching up to brush the slick hair back off Steve’s forehead. “Hey, sweetheart, hey you’re doin’ so good for me, such a good boy-”

Steve lets out a long, quiet whimper, screwing himself back on Bucky’s dick. “Buck,” he hisses, “God, Buck, want you to come inside me, come right up inside me-”

“I can’t, Stevie, I can’t-”

“Do it, goddammit,” Steve gasps, stretching his arm up over his head and wrapping his palm around Bucky’s nape. He shifts against Bucky, the balance of his weight changing. He’s jerking off again, Bucky realizes, and he reaches around to curl his fingers over Steve’s. 

“Easy, sugar,” he murmurs into Steve’s neck while he fucks him long and lazy. “Yer gonna run outta juice, an’ I still won’t mind if you wanna return the favor here.”

Steve moans softly, hiding the sound in the flesh of his upper arm where it’s curved against his cheek. “Y-y’mean, fuck you?”

“Uh huh.” Steve shudders against him, and Bucky can feel himself tipping. He forces himself to go slow, not to rush. His orgasm builds up with the inevitable, dragging force of a wave crashing, and it almost makes him crazy not to make any noise. He feels like crying, screaming, but he settles for muttering Steve’s name into the back of his neck, kissing it into his shoulders, pressing it against his belly with shaking fingertips.

 

[art by bob-genghis-khan](http://bob-genghis-khan.tumblr.com/post/103140471584/for-notallbees-who-is-working-on-an)

 

Bucky wakes from a doze to find himself pressed tight against Steve in the darkness. It takes him a few moments of disorientation to remember where he is, but Steve’s alarm clock tells him that he hasn’t slept more than twenty minutes or so. Steve seems to be out too, but he stirs when Bucky does, rolling onto his back and trying to wrap his arms around Bucky’s neck. He lets himself be pulled in for a lazy kiss, and Steve hums happily.

“You’re here,” he murmurs, sounding pleased. 

“Sure am. Prob’ly shouldn’t be.”

Steve moans a little in protest and wraps him up tighter. “Don’t you dare leave.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky teases in a whisper. “I ain’t forgotten, you wanna get yours too.”

"You know that ain't what I meant," Steve mumbles sleepily. 

Bucky laughs softly. “I know, sweetheart.” He kisses across Steve’s cheeks, following the trail of his freckles down the side of his neck and over his right shoulder. “Y’wanna finger me, darlin’? Or do you wanna watch me?”

Steve’s breath catches and his mouth works a couple of times before he finally manages to utter the word “Watch”. 

When Bucky works a slick finger inside himself, Steve seems to lose the power of rational speech entirely. Bucky lies flat on his back, aware that he must be gazing at Steve with the dopiest look on his face, but he just can’t look away. He doesn’t want to look away. Thing is, the look on Steve’s face is just as loved up, if not more. He’s watching Bucky intently, eyes wide with adoration, and skimming from his face down to his cock and back again. 

“Want me to do another?” Bucky whispers. Steve nods furiously, a shudder running through him. He moves closer, crawling between Bucky’s bent knees and watching, rapt, while Bucky works another finger into his hole. 

“Fuck.” Steve’s voice sounds weak, almost pained, then he huffs out a moan and turns to kiss the inside of Bucky’s knee, his thigh. 

Bucky works himself up quick, unable to bear the desperation in Steve’s expression for too long. After a few minutes, Steve gets impatient of watching and grabs for the lube himself. Bucky catches his lip between his teeth while he watches Steve getting his fingers slippery, before reaching between Bucky’s thighs. He nudges cautiously at Bucky’s tight-stretched hole with his pointer finger, his brows drawn in concentration.

“Go ahead,” Bucky murmurs, scissoring his fingers apart slightly to make room for Steve. 

“Oh God,” Steve moans, when his finger sinks in up to the first knuckle, and then further. He stares down at his hand for a minute, watching it move, and Bucky tries to keep his eyes on Steve’s face. It’s hard, when every other slippery press of their fingers makes him shudder and writhe and close his eyes tight, but he does his best, because Steve’s face in the moonlight is a fuckin’ gift. 

Bucky soon gets tired of waiting - maybe a little _too_ soon, but he’ll deal with it - and he rolls over onto his side, away from Steve. “C’mere,” he whispers, patting his hip and motioning for Steve to snug in behind him. “Ready for ya.”

“You sure?” Steve sounds a little wary, but he’s already fumbling with a condom packet, his breath coming sharp and fast as he rolls it on. 

Stifling his laughter, Bucky reaches out to grab Steve and pulls them both down onto the bed together. Steve snuggles in, his forehead pressing in somewhere between Bucky’s shoulder blades while he rocks his hips back and carefully teases over Bucky’s hole with the head of his cock. “Whenever you’re ready, kiddo,” Bucky whispers, reaching back to cradle his head, run his fingers through Steve’s hair. 

Steve pushes inside him slowly for an inch or two, before halting with a noise like he's been punched in the chest. It hurts at first in a way he’d forgotten, but it’s good too, the strange feeling of fullness, of being owned by Steve. 

“Oh, Christ-”

“I know, sugar,” Bucky whispers.

“It’s so _tight_ -”

“That’s right, honey, c’mon,” he murmurs breathlessly, “you can move, I can take it-”

“Okay,” Steve gasps, remaining still. “Okay, jus’ - just gimme a second.”

Bucky nods, reaching down for Steve’s hand and tugging it around his waist. He curls his fingers protectively around Steve’s. “All the time you need, Stevie.”

Steve makes a little whimpering sound in his throat as he starts to move again. Bucky clutches his hand tighter, pressing it into his chest. He shivers at the sensation of Steve’s dizzy breath between his shoulders. It’s a while since he did this, but as they start to find a rhythm between them, he wonders why the hell he hasn’t suggested this happen sooner. 

“God, Bucky - Buck, shit-” Steve pants, then he yanks his hand free of Bucky’s and reaches down to grab his thigh. His fingers dig in sharp into the meat of Bucky’s leg and he hauls it up with a gasp of effort, moving to settle his weight more on top of Bucky so he can bear down and fuck into him harder. It makes the bed rock slightly, but Steve keeps his movements slow, making as little noise as possible. “Is - _unh_ \- this okay?”

Bucky nods, arching his back to push into Steve’s thrusts, moving his hips in time with Steve’s so he can rub off against the mattress. He’s tender after screwing Steve, but it’s just the right side of painful, and he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. “Keep goin’, Stevie,” he gasps, grabbing hold of the pillow and pulling it tight against his chest. “C’mon, you’re doin’ good, don’t stop-”

Steve doesn’t last long, pushing Bucky into the mattress and biting down hard on his shoulder to keep quiet while he shudders through his orgasm. He goes limp when he’s done, sweat sticking him to Bucky’s back, their thighs slippery with sweat and friction-hot at the same time. Bucky’s happy to wait to get his; he’s still fucked out and sleepy from their first round, no urgency to get off like before, and it’s comforting to have Steve pressed up against him and breathing hard against his neck. They lie still and Bucky listens to the soft creaks of the old house settling around them; the quiet arrhythmic clanking of the pipes in the walls; the sound of crickets through the open window. He thinks about Steve falling asleep to these noises his whole life, knowing one place so intimately it’s like another family member. Bucky’s lived too many places to remember, but he thinks it must be nice having one place to call home.

“Mnh, Buck?” Steve mumbles sleepily against his shoulder.

“You fall asleep up there?” Bucky teases. Steve just huffs at him, which probably means _yes_.

Steve clambers off him and tugs at Bucky’s hip until he rolls onto his back. “ _Move_ ,” he hisses, grumpily.

Bucky tries not to laugh as he complies, but any sound slips into a startled gasp when Steve bends over him and takes his cock in his mouth. “Aw, fuck,” Bucky whispers, his fingers flexing with the urge to grab hold of Steve’s soft hair. He holds back, because it seems somehow rude to do that when he’s had his fingers up his own ass not fifteen minutes earlier, but Steve just reaches for his left hand and tugs it down, planting it firmly on his head. He looks up at Bucky, eyelashes fluttering, and regretfully Bucky pulls him back by his hair.

“Ah - what’re you doin’?” Steve gasps, although he doesn’t make an effort to free himself. 

Shaking his head quickly, Bucky rummages for another condom. Steve tries to protest, but Bucky just gives him a stern look before unwrapping it and rolling it on. 

“Yer no fun,” Steve murmurs, leaning in to kiss him, languid and burning. Bucky still has his hand in Steve’s hair, and he tugs him roughly back out of the kiss, leaving a long, quivering string of spit between their mouths. 

“You can have fun when yer done with business.” Bucky shoves him down, pushing Steve’s face into his belly, where Steve smothers a noisy moan before kissing and nipping his way back down to Bucky’s cock. He sets to his task with the kind of enthusiasm he otherwise only shows for picking fights and getting into scrapes. Bucky reaches behind with his other hand to grip the headboard, bringing his thighs up again to bracket Steve’s shoulders while his stomach tenses and his hips shudder. 

Steve, perhaps in revenge for Bucky pushing him around, waits til he’s got Bucky all the way down his throat before slipping two fingers up his ass. Bucky wants to yell, but he muffles the sound against his arm, and catches Steve looking up with a smug look on his pretty little face. “Don’t go lookin’ so pleased with yourself until you’ve got spunk on yer face,” Bucky mutters, trying to scowl, though it’s tricky with Steve’s fingers squirming around, searching out his prostate with the determination of a hunting dog. “Easy there, tiger,” Bucky says, wriggling slightly. “You drillin’ fer oil down there? Take it easy-”

Nodding slightly, Steve eases his fingers out before working them in again more gently, stroking in with slow, rhythmic movements, timed to the bob of his head in Bucky’s lap. It doesn’t take him long this time to find what he’s looking for, and Bucky shivers all over when he finds it. Steve pauses to lap his tongue around the head of Bucky’s dick before sucking on it gently. 

“Fuck, Stevie, I can’t-”

Steve pulls off him and slips off the condom, still massaging Bucky’s prostate determinedly. He uses his free hand to jack him off quickly, giving Bucky no time to protest before he’s coming, shooting off all over Steve’s mouth and cheek. 

“Holy shit,” Bucky gasps, flopping back onto the pillows. “You dirty little fucker.”

“Mm, that’s me.” Steve leans forward and rubs his face on Bucky’s belly, smearing come across his skin and into the trail of hair leading up to his navel.

Bucky rolls over and pins him to the bed, both of them struggling not to laugh. “Yer an idiot,” Bucky says fondly, nuzzling Steve’s jaw, then nipping at his ear. Steve wraps shaky limbs around him, then Bucky finds his mouth, and they make out for a few long, lazy minutes. 

Eventually they’re both yawning too much to keep going. Bucky tucks Steve under the covers, already looking half asleep, but when Bucky’s pulling on his boxers, Steve reaches out to grab his arm. 

“Just lie with me a minute,” he pleads.

“Stevie-” Bucky shakes his head. “It’s almost four thirty, it ain’t that long ‘fore I should be up fer work.”

Steve’s eyes plead with him. “Just for a minute.”

Bucky sighs. He’s a fool and he knows it. “Alright,” he mutters, climbing in beside him. “But just a minute.”

 

 

The next time Bucky wakes up, the room is warm with sunlight, and he can smell the warm, old blanket scent of Steve’s dirty hair. His head is resting on Bucky’s shoulder, face tucked against his neck. Bucky’s arm has gone to sleep, but he finds he doesn’t mind much. He tries to shift his weight a little without moving, but Steve must’ve been right on the edge of sleep, because his eyes open slowly and he gives Bucky a wide, dopey grin. 

“Buck.”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Bucky says, petting Steve’s chin with the pad of his thumb. “God damn you look beautiful in the morning.” Steve’s eyes widen slightly, and the realization hits Bucky a second later, socking him right in the chest. “Oh, fuck.”

He’s rolling out of bed before he even checks the time, stumbling into his pants and boots as he becomes aware of the low clatter of voices outside. “It’s almost ten thirty,” Steve whispers in a panicked voice from the bed. He hasn’t moved yet, except to sit up, and Bucky has to spare half a second to look at him. He’s flushed, his chest pillow marked, and his hair is standing up at all angles. 

“Stay in bed,” Bucky whispers, going to him and kissing him firmly. “Just tell ‘em yer sick. I’ll get out the window, don’t worry.”

“We - we could tell ‘em,” Steve mutters, as Bucky pulls away.

Bucky frowns at him. “If you wanna, yeah.” His mouth quirks. “But this maybe ain’t the best way for ‘em to find out.”

Steve nods, turning to look out of the window. “You really would though?”

Bucky touches his chin. “Of course.”

Steve smiles absently. “We’ll talk later? Work out how to tell ‘em?”

“Promise,” Bucky whispers, taking hold of his shoulders and kissing him once more. “Don’t worry.” He carefully takes the chair out from under Steve’s door handle, then goes to the window and peers out. It seems everyone’s made their way over to the barn by now, and really once he’s made it to the ground, he’ll be fine. He could have any one of a dozen excuses for being in the yard or around the farmhouse. He glances over his shoulder for one last look at Steve, but Steve is scrambling out of bed, wincing as he tiptoes over to the window. “Get back under those sheets” Bucky hisses.

“No,” Steve mutters, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and kissing him hard. 

Bucky pulls away, licking the taste of Steve’s mouth from his lips. “Go to bed,” he whispers, trying not to grin. He pokes the tip of Steve’s nose, getting a reluctant smile out of him, then he hauls himself out onto the roof and creeps over to the ancient trellis. 

 

 

As soon as he’s dragged himself through a quick shower, Bucky rushes through his chores. Even going as quick as he can, it still seems to take far too long; he’s dazed and sloppy from screwing half the night, and half stupid with affection for Steve. A little part of him, a part he’s trying not to think too hard about, is terrified at the thought of telling Steve’s folks about them, but he’s excited too. He hopes they’ll understand when they see that Steve is happy. He doesn’t even care if he has to move off the farm: hell, he’d almost be glad of it. That way they could maybe make their own space somewhere.

He’s in the middle of mucking out the stables, knee deep in shitty straw, when he hears the pastor calling him from outside. 

“In here!” he yells out cheerfully. 

He hears footsteps across the yard, then the pastor steps in through the doorway.

“Afternoon,” Bucky says, grinning as he picks his way out of the stall. Then he looks up, and his smile fades at the expression on Rogers' face. “Somethin’ wrong?”

Rogers frowns. He runs his fingers through his greying hair. “Bucky, I need a word.”

“Sure,” Bucky says, setting aside his pitchfork. A leaden sensation drops into his gut, plummeting through him horribly. “Uh, what’s up?”

“Do you-” Rogers begins, before pausing and shutting his mouth again. His frown deepens. “Why did you come here, Bucky?”

Whatever he’d been expecting, that wasn’t it. Bucky stares at him in surprise. “I - I dunno. You asked me to, I guess, and I had nowhere else to go just then.”

Rogers nods. “Do you now?”

Bucky flinches. “What?”

“Do you have somewhere else to stay?”

“I - I don’t know,” Bucky says quietly. He glances down at his hands, which have started to tremble. His heart is racing; Steve must have told them, this must be about Steve. He can’t think what else-

Rogers sighs. “Look, Bucky, I just want to know what’s going on.”

Bucky looks back at him. He doesn’t look angry, just confused and unhappy. “What’s going on,” he says, seeking confirmation.

“Yes. First there’s you two disappearing off at all hours, and Steve starts all this business dressing up, now I’ve got Brock Rumlow coming to me with all kinds of tall tales-”

“Rumlow?” Bucky snaps, unable to stop himself. Steve’s left side was all mottled with bruises this morning, and even the sound of Rumlow’s name makes Bucky want to hit something. 

Rogers just eyes him curiously. “He said you and Steve were out drinking last night, over in the next county.”

“We weren’t _drinking_ ,” Bucky snaps, realizing too late he probably could’ve denied being there at all. He sighs and shakes his head quickly. “Rumlow was drinkin’, he goaded Steve into a fight, put him in the hospital-”

“ _Hospital_?” Rogers says, his expression turning to shock.

Bucky shakes his head. “No, he - he’s okay, but-”

“Fine, fine,” Rogers says impatiently, shaking his head. “But if he was in the hospital last night, then why the hell does Rumlow seem to think he saw you sneaking out of Steve’s bedroom window this morning while everyone else was at the service?”

The words freeze Bucky to the spot. He’d been so sure that nobody had seen him. It’s possible that Rumlow was just fishing, but there’s no reason for him to say that without some reason to believe it. Bucky flails around uselessly for something to say, but all he can think of is kissing Steve goodbye at the window, of promising him that they would work things out. By the time he glances back to Rogers’ stony expression, he knows that it has been far too long to simply deny it. 

“We - we were gonna-”

Rogers shakes his head, and Bucky’s words trail off. “I don’t believe it.” His voice is barely above a whisper. Bucky swallows hard, trying to find something to say.

“Sir-”

“We take you in,” Rogers says, speaking over him, his voice slowly getting louder, “an’ this is the thanks we get?” He takes a step forward, his face darkening. “You sit at my table, play nice with my family, and all the while you’ve been screwing my little boy? Right under my roof?”

Bucky winces. “No, not before last night-”

Rogers isn’t listening. He turns away, scowling, pacing as he mutters out loud. “He’s always been headstrong but _this_? None of this mess started until you arrived. I know he and Rumlow don’t get on but they never fought like this-” He groans and throws Bucky a weary look. “I know he thinks I don’t know, or don’t _care_ what he gets up to, but I see more than he thinks I do. Maybe I just don’t _want_ to know, but if he thinks he can shock me, he’ll be waitin’ a long time.” 

Rogers halts his pacing and turns to lean back against the empty stall opposite. “I know you served, Bucky, so maybe you’ll understand when I say that some things that you see-” He shakes his head sadly. “They put things in perspective. You realize things ain’t worth gettin’ so worked up about. A boy wants to screw around with other boys, what the hell. He wants to get up in a dress, so what, if it makes him happy?” 

“I want him to be happy,” Bucky ventures, and the pastor studies him grimly.

“If he was a girl, I’d march the pair of you up the aisle myself,” he says wearily. “But he ain’t, and from what I hear, he’s got one hell of a reputation around here thanks to you.” Bucky opens his mouth to reply, but the pastor goes on anyway. “An’ that aside, I don’t take kindly to bein’ lied to in my own home. You’ve got some guts, Bucky Barnes, thinkin’ you can can sit and break bread with me and all the while you’re takin’ advantage of my boy in my own home.”

“It’s Steve’s choice,” Bucky says, feeling himself getting angry. “It’s his damn choice, it has been the whole time-”

Rogers frowns. “Keep yer voice down, son-”

“No!” Bucky yells, kicking aside the half torn up bale of straw at the entrance to the stall and stalking two steps towards the pastor. “I think you oughta listen up, because you don’t know a _damn_ thing about that boy of yours-”

“Barnes-”

“He’s not a child,” Bucky says, the words ripping out of him. His hands make fists at his sides. “He knows how to choose fer himself, and he _chose_ to sleep around with your stupid jocks and get himself on the wrong side of Brock Rumlow, he _chose_ to put on a dress and feel pretty once in a while, and he _chose_ to screw yer farmhand.” Bucky breaks off, hauls in a bitter breath of air. “And he also chose to tell you and his ma about it today, but I guess you saved him the trouble.” Bucky glances away from him, feeling the fight begin to leave him. “And I ain’t apologisin’, not to you.”

“How long’s this been goin’ on?”

Bucky flinches. “Not that long.” Rogers glares at him, and he buckles. “A couple months, I guess, give or take.”

Rogers looks away with a muttered curse “Whatever else he might’ve done,” he says quietly, “my boy’s never lied to me.”

Bucky feels suddenly sick. He knew: he _knew_ lying to them was wrong, but he just kept brushing it off, letting it be nothing, letting himself get lost in Steve instead. 

Rogers steps away from the stall door, steps towards the yard. “I think you oughta go, Bucky,” he says quietly. He looks back over his shoulder. “I’m goin’ up to the house. You’d better be gone by the time I get back.”

When he’s gone, Bucky stands there for a moment, unable to think. He needs to move. He needs to find Steve, but he doesn’t know what to do. He leans back against the stall and slides down to a crouch, staring at his hands while he tries to gather his thoughts. For a few wild moments, he thinks about asking Steve to leave with him, but he can’t do that. He won’t. He’s already done enough damage to Steve and his family. Bucky doesn’t even know how long he sits there, but after a while he realizes that his legs are aching, and he pushes himself to his feet, swiping at his face with his sleeve. 

He walks up to the cabin on shaky legs, watching the strands of long grass bend under his tread. The reeds have grown up high around the pond, almost hiding it from view completely. He doesn’t go closer, knowing that Steve won’t be there. He’s still up at the farmhouse, but Bucky resists the urge to look back. It doesn’t take him long to gather up his possessions; he shoves a few changes of clothes and a couple of books in a duffel, throws them in the pickup along with his guitar.

Again, he stops himself from looking back to the farmhouse when he eases the pickup down to the yard, and swings out towards the road. But he can’t help himself: it’s like a magnet, drawing his eye, and he’s got to have one last look. Bucky could swear he feels his heart stop in his chest when he looks up and there's Steve in his rear view mirror. Panicked, he steps on the gas without thinking, and the pickup leaps forward with a gasp, chewing up the dirt track underneath. Steve laughs in the mirror and starts to run, skinny knees flashing in the sunshine. 

Bucky realizes, then. Steve doesn’t know he’s leaving. He probably thinks Bucky’s just heading to the store, or to drink a beer with Clint. Bucky’s gut claws him inside out, but he doesn’t stop. He’d never get back in the truck if he stopped now. Steve chases him a hundred metres or so, Bucky keeping the truck just a little too fast for him to catch up, but unable to bear leaving him behind. Steve's lungs make the choice for him: Bucky watches as he slows to a stop at last, one hand gripping his chest while the other other comes up to wave. Bucky knows without needing to see that he's still smiling.

 

 

Bucky’s got no idea where he’s heading next, but at least he knows his first stop. With Clint, he might get an I-told-you-so, but at least he’ll get a semi-sympathetic ear, and maybe together they can work out his next move. By the time he reaches the gas station six blocks from Clint’s place, he’s running on fumes, literally and figuratively, but he’s decided that he’s not gonna be driven away. He promised Steve he’d be there, so that’s what he’s gonna be, whatever it takes. 

He fills up the tank before ducking into the 7 eleven to buy himself a soda and a candy bar. His hands were shaking on the wheel on the drive from the farm, so he rips open the wrapper and sticks it in his mouth so he has a hand free to fish his wallet out of his pocket. 

At first, he doesn't register the shiny black truck roll onto the forecourt, or the cocky son of a bitch who climbs out of it. It's not until the kid steps into the store that Bucky recognizes Rumlow, and by then it's too late to avoid him. 

"Hey, if it isn't our very own Don Juan," Rumlow yells, crashing the door open so it bangs loudly. "Or should I say Don Homo?"

Bucky pops the candy bar out of his mouth with a scowl. "Good one," he says, deadpan. "Who writes your material?"

Rumlow snorts. "Who sucks your dick when Rogers has other customers?" He eyes the candy. "Or do you do the sucking?" 

"You seem awful interested in it," Bucky says lightly. "Lyin' to yerself?" 

"What?"

He shrugs and turns to pay, handing over some crumpled bills. When he turns back, Rumlow is still waiting, looking angry and vaguely stupid. "You push him around a lot," Bucky says, picking up his soda again. "Kinda like a kid with a crush when ya think about it."

Something twitches in Rumlow's expression, then he plasters on a big, fake grin. "You got me, farmhand," he says, shrugging. He glances out at the pickup. "Looks to me like you're leaving town. Vacation? I guess somebody better keep an eye on Rogers while you're gone, an' like you just said, I've got a secret urge to get close to him."

"You stay away from him," Bucky growls, advancing on him a couple of steps, his body instinctively moving into threat mode. Rumlow stands his ground, bringing his chin up with a sneer. 

"Gonna make me, you piece of trash?"

Bucky snorts derisively and turns away, heading for the door. "You ain't worth my time."

"Yeah? Well you ain't worth the shit on my shoe," Rumlow snaps back. Bucky reaches for the door handle, trying to let the words roll off him like oil, but the stupid son of a bitch ain't done. "An' I'm gonna make sure Rogers gets real well acquainted with that shit, Barnes."

It’s a long time since Bucky got in a real fight, and it shocks him to feel the rage descend over him like a hot flush before a bout of nausea. He reaches out for Rumlow, snagging him by the collar of his letterman jacket and hauling him out onto the forecourt. 

“Hey - the fuck!?”

“You and I are gonna have a _word_ ,” Bucky growls. “A nice, civilized conversation.” A glance over his shoulder tells him that the kid behind the cash register isn’t gonna do a damn thing to stop him, and Bucky feels a jolt of savage pleasure when he shoves Rumlow, squawking and struggling, through the battered door to the restrooms. 

Although he’s lit up inside with fury, Bucky’s careful not to shove the kid too hard. He rights himself quickly, turns around to take in the locked door, Bucky with his back to it.

“The hell do you want?” Rumlow spits. His bravado is starting to break apart now that he’s alone with just Bucky, nobody to watch his back. Maybe he’s starting to realize that he’s outnumbered. 

Bucky shrugs. “Waitin’ to hear what else you’ve got to say about Steve Rogers.” He takes a couple of steps towards Rumlow, taking a vicious pleasure in watching him try and hold face. 

Rumlow glares back at him. “Get outta my way, Barnes.”

“No.”

They stare each other out for a second, then Rumlow snarls at him. “The hell’re you waitin’ for, ya dumb fuck?” He shoves Bucky’s shoulder hard, but Bucky’s ready for it, turning his body to absorb the impact and keeping his feet steady. Rumlow growls and shoves him again, with both hands this time. “Let me go!”

Bucky just stares back at him. “I ain’t stoppin’ ya.”

With a wary look in his eyes, Rumlow feints to the side, making to move around him, but Bucky moves too, blocking his exit. Rumlow yells in frustration and punches Bucky solidly in the chest. It’s not a good angle, or a good punch, so it doesn’t do much more than sting as it glances off, and Bucky shakes his head. “Gonna have to try harder than that,” he mutters, “‘cause you ain’t walkin’ out of here with any intention of hurtin’ Steve Rogers ever again.”

“Fuck you!” Rumlow yells, swinging for him at last. The punch lands square on his nose and he feels the bridge of his face go numb, tastes copper in the back of his mouth. Rumlow pulls back. Bucky wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sees the blood smeared on his knuckles. He grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *deep sigh of relief*
> 
> There's probably gonna be just one more chapter after this. Ride's almost over, kids. We did it.
> 
> *ducks projectiles*


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good news: I lied about there being one more chapter. There's another one to come after this.
> 
> The bad news: You're gonna _really need_ that final chapter, and in the meantime, think of this chapter as a huge gaping wound in your flesh that I am pouring salt into while laughing maniacally.

**Now**

  
_'Cause we're here alone_  
_I know we're together but too far apart_  
_To know how to get back home_  


Neil Diamond - If I Don't See You Again

"He deserved it," Steve says in a voice full of quiet fury.

Bucky stares at him for a moment in stunned silence before shaking his head. "No. He was a teenager, Stevie, and I put him in the hospital."

"He _deserved_ it," Steve repeats, viciously.

"Like you deserved it?" Bucky says evenly. Steve stares back at him, meeting the challenge in Bucky's eyes but finding nothing to say to that. "Rumlow sure thought you did."

Steve looks away, scowling. "I still say he got what was comin' to him."

"Maybe he did, yeah. Broken wrist," Bucky mutters, counting off on his fingers,"three cracked ribs-"

"Bucky, stop it."

"-broken nose, two teeth out, heavy bruising-"

"Enough!" Steve yells, loud enough that the murmur of voices in the next room goes silent for a few moments. "Why're you tellin' me all this?" he whispers. 

"So you know who you really fell in love with," Bucky says, fumbling through the words. "I ain't worth yer time, I never was. I should never've left the army. Only damn thing I was good for."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Mary'n Joseph, Bucky, have ya heard yerself?"

Bucky shakes his head. "Yer pa was right is all I'm sayin'. You were better, safer, without me."

"You'd _never_ hurt me." Bucky dares a look at his face and regrets it when he sees the way Steve is watching him, eyes wide and earnest. “Bucky, I know you.” He reaches out slowly, his fingertips grazing Bucky’s wrist. “I _know_ you, and you wouldn’t hurt me.”

**Then**

  
_You and I we were captured_  
_We took our souls_  
_and we flew away_  


Neil Young - Comes a Time

There’s blood on Bucky’s hands and clothes when he gets to his feet again. He steps over to the sink to wash his scraped knuckles, his face. He turns his shirt inside out. Bucky knows he ought to feel sick and dirty, but right now all he feels is numb. Numb all over except for a tiny, vicious pebble in his heart that’s thrilled with the vengeance he’s wrought on Steve’s behalf.

There’s still nobody in the store except the kid behind the counter. He gives Bucky a bold look when he walks in, jutting his chin out. 

“You got a phone, kid?” He nods, and Bucky shakes his head. “Call an ambulance. Someone beat the living hell outta that jackass.”

The kid swallows, reaching halfway towards the phone before hesitating. “I ain’t gonna tell,” he says softly.

“Kid, pick up the damn phone and call.”

“That asshole stuck my head in the toilet at the start of every semester for three years,” he goes on in a wavering voice. He’s not even looking at Bucky any more, gazing out at the empty lot instead. Bucky slams his fist on the counter, making the kid jump and yelp. 

“Call a fucking ambulance,” Bucky growls at him. “ _Now_.”

The kid nods and picks up the phone with shaking hands. Bucky murmurs to him what he needs to tell the operator, then the kid hangs up. He looks worn and sick, and Bucky feels awful for mixing him up in this. 

“Sorry I shouted at ya,” he says, a little shamefaced. “But he don’t deserve you hatin’ him that much. He ain’t worth yer time.”

Bucky slides ten bucks across the counter, grabbing himself a coke and a pack of gum on his way to the door. He hears the kid shout something after him, but he doesn’t take any notice. 

 

 

It would probably be polite to _call_ before he shows up on Clint’s doorstep, half his face bruised and crusted with blood, while the rest of him is soaking in someone else’s. Trouble is, Bucky doesn’t trust himself to speak right now, and he needs to get somewhere safe before he falls apart. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles still aching with the sensation of bone cracking under his fist. 

Bucky knocks instead of ringing the bell, and almost instantly he can hear the sounds of barking and yelling from inside the house. 

“Knock it off, ya dumb mutt-” Clint says from behind the door as he unlocks it. As soon as the door is open, Lucky bounds through, but he stops short when he catches a whiff of Bucky. His tails and ears drop, and he circles Bucky’s legs with a mournful keening sound. “Holy hell, Barnes,” Clint says, looking stunned. “What’d ya do to my dog? What’d do to yer _face_?”

“I actually gotta talk to you about somethin’ else I did,” Bucky mutters, looking meaningfully over Clint’s shoulder. “Can I come in?”

Clint nods, stepping back into the hallway. “Sure, pal, sure. But if you’re screwin’ another preacher’s boy-” He stops when he sees Bucky’s expression darken, and whistles for Lucky to get back in the house. “So it’s about Stevie? He ain’t with ya?” 

Bucky shakes his head. “Ain’t about him.” He sighs heavily. “Well, I guess it is.”

Clint tries to offer him bourbon, and when he refuses, makes Bucky some coffee strong enough to strip paint. He’s pretty sure it’s got a lick of whiskey in it anyhow, not that he can tell over the sludgey taste of the cheap coffee, but Bucky figures it makes no odds at this stage. He’ll be just as well driving with a few units in him as to be driving while he’s in shock. Clint mostly stays quiet while he tells the whole story, though Bucky notices that it doesn’t take him long to spot the blood still spattered on him in places where he didn’t have time to scrub it off. To his credit, he doesn’t mention it until Bucky’s done explaining about how he just eviscerated Rumlow. When Bucky’s done, Clint just shakes his head, and fetches some ice.

“You’re a damn fool, Barnes. Can’t believe you-”

“I know it,” Bucky mutters.

“-and in the kid’s _bedroom_? You ain’t-”

“He ain’t a kid.”

“-the sense God gave a clam, and now yer, what, on the run for murder?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I didn’t kill him.” He winces. “Pretty sure I didn’t. Made sure he got an ambulance right away, too.”

Clint throws his hands up, while Lucky dances around his feet, whining anxiously. “Well that’s peachy, so you’re just on the run for assault instead.”

Slugging back the rest of his coffee, Bucky sets the cup down on the table and reaches into his pocket with one shaking hand. “This - this is fer him,” he says, bringing his hand out and laying it, fist closed, on the table. “If he comes by, will ya give him this?”

Clint looks stunned. “Wait, you ain’t really gonna run?”

Bucky laughs bitterly. “I was gonna make friends with yer couch for a couple’a weeks, try an’ get back in the Rogers’s good books. That ain’t gonna happen now.” He sighs. “And Steve’s gotta get to college.” 

“Never mind it’ll kill him to watch you get sent to jail for him.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, ducking his head. “Never mind that.”

He gets to his feet. “Thanks for the coffee. I was just comin’ to say goodbye.”

Clint shakes his head. “You son of a bitch.”

Nodding, resigned to his fate, Bucky reaches out. He breathes out a sigh of relief when Clint envelops him in a crushing hug, even if he’s cursing Bucky under his breath at the same time. “I’ll be in touch,” Bucky says, choking back the urge to start sobbing and never stop.

“No you won’t.”

“I _will_ ,” Bucky insists, clutching him tighter. For a second, just for a second, he can pretend he’s getting a goodbye with Steve, and he clings on as hard as he can to make the sensation last. He wonders where Steve is right now, whether he’s noticed yet that Bucky is gone.

They both pull back, awkward and rubbing at their faces with their sleeves. “You need anything?” Clint mumbles, stooping to ruffle Lucky’s ears. “Got some cash? You need clothes? Anything?”

Bucky shakes his head, but Clint is already moving towards his bedroom, Lucky torn between him and Bucky. In the end he flops himself down on Bucky’s feet, right as Clint comes back with a battered envelope. “Here, there’s some money to keep ya goin'.”

“Clint-”

“You’ll pay me back one day, don’t worry,” Clint says, shoving it into his hands. “You need it more than I do, go on. Get outta here.”

Bucky extricates his feet from Lucky’s sympathetic weight, and Clint herds him towards the door. Bucky glances over his shoulder from the hallway. The chain of his old dogtags curls untidily around itself on the table, the one tag kicked out at an angle. He puts his hand back in his pocket and fingers the familiar blunt edges of the other one. He hopes Steve will know it for the apology it is, in place of his promise.

 

 

It’s getting late when Steve realizes he hasn’t been called to dinner, and what’s more, he hasn’t seen Bucky since right after lunch. He’s been reading in his room most of the day, dozing in and out of sleep after their late night, and he wakes fully with the sudden awareness that he’s _starving_. Steve rolls out of bed and changes his t-shirt before starting downstairs. He can’t smell anything like dinner cooking, and when he hits the bottom of the stairs, he hears his ma and pa yelling at each other somewhere in the distance. 

Rolling his eyes at them, Steve grabs an apple from the kitchen and skips out of the back door to go looking for Bucky. This time of night, Steve’s most likely to find him up at the cabin, but he detours past the stables and the pond just in case. The sun’s almost ready to start setting by the time he gets up there, so it’s strange that he can’t see any lights on, but maybe Bucky’s been sleeping too. He must be tired, after screwin’ all night and workin’ all day. 

Steve knocks a couple of times, but there’s no answer. He tries the door and finds it open.

“Bucky? Hey, you here?” He pushes the door open, sees the overturned chair; the library books scattered and bent by the side of the bed like dead birds; the open dresser, vomiting clothes. Steve slumps against the door frame, shaking. “Bucky?” he whispers.

 

 

“Momma,” Steve whimpers, his voice cracking horribly. He’s ashamed, but it only makes him feel more like crying. “Momma, he’s gone. Bucky’s gone-”

“Oh, baby,” she sobs, dragging him into her arms and clutching him as tight as she can. “Oh, Stevie, baby, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t know, I’m sorry-”

Steve pulls back from her. He glances from her tearful face to his dad’s. “What?” he whispers, his gut twisting miserably. “Did - something happen?” His dad is silent. Steve’s ma tenses, her nails digging into his arms, and he catches her giving his pa the filthiest look. “Ma, what - what the hell’s going on?” He looks back to his dad again. “Why won’t you tell me?” he shouts, his chest tightening. “Where’s Bucky? Where is he? What’d you _do_?”

“Stevie-”

“Don’t _call_ me that!” Steve screams, backing away from them. “Where is he?”

His pa just shakes his head, his mouth tight and sad. Steve’s ma has started to cry again. Steve drops to the floor abruptly, like his legs forgot they were doing a job and just gave up. This - he’s been waiting for this. Hoping against all fucking hope that he was wrong, but knowing deep, deep down, that Bucky wouldn’t hang around for a slut and a fuck up like him forever. Steve wishes he’d never _mentioned_ telling his parents. “God, _Bucky_ ,” he moans, dropping his chin to his chest. “No, no no _no_.”

Steve’s pa puts a hand on his shoulder. “Steve, listen to me-” He looks up through blurry eyes, sees his pa crouch down in front of him, trying to smile and failing. Steve swipes at his face with his sleeve. “Stevie, it’s not your fault.” He sighs heavily, sitting back on his heels. “It was me, I told him to go. I - I know about the two of you, and I told him to go.”

For a few moments, the words don’t register. “Huh?” Steve whispers, struggling to wrap his head around that. He knew? His pa _knew_? “You - you made him go?” Steve mutters, hoarse and bewildered.

“He’s been lyin’ to me,” his pa says severely. “And you-”

“What the _fuck_?” Steve yells, startling him into silence. 

“Steven!” his ma shouts, but Steve barely even hears her. His hands are making fists in his lap, still aching from the fight the previous night. 

Steve tries to take a breath, but his chest is pulling tight, and he can only pant for air. “You - you - made him - go.”

“Now listen to me, young man-”

“No!” Steve screams, scrambling to his feet and stepping forward where, for once, he looms over his pa. “You listen. You - you don’t understand _anything_! Bucky _loves_ me, and I don’t give a shit about your sick, homophobic fuckin’-”

“Steven Grant Rogers!” 

“Shut up!” he yells, which is a mistake. His ma cracks him hard across the face with her palm, and he reels back, stunned. “Ma-”

She shakes her head, furious. At her side, his pa is getting slowly to his feet, looking miserable. “You don’t speak to your father that way,” she growls. “You know - you _know_ we’ve never said a _damn_ word about what you do, or who you do it with-”

Steve glares at them both. “So it was fine until I got caught? Is that it?” They both look back at him with nothing to say. He can see that they’re trying, that they’ll come up with something to deny it, to pacify him, but it’s too late. “Forget it,” he mutters, turning away from them. “Just forget it. I’m gonna go be alone for a bit.” 

He starts up the stairs, but in his head he’s already out the window and halfway up the dirt track to the main road. Part of him doesn’t want to believe that Bucky is gone; he’ll be nearby, holed up at Clint’s place maybe, or in some scummy motel where he’d probably say he feels at home. Steve can get to Natasha’s place, make a plan, get over to see Clint. It’ll take him a few hours to walk to town, but he can make it.

His resolve lasts until he gets to his door and sees his rumpled sheets. He sags against the doorframe and draws in a long, shuddering breath. He should’ve changed the sheets sooner. The patchwork quilt is twisted up, lying almost like it was when Bucky wriggled out from under it that morning. His hair tie is still lying on his nightstand. Steve sits down on the edge of the bed, and feels his throat seize up suddenly when he catches the familiar smell on the sheets. They still smell of Bucky. 

“Oh god,” Steve whimpers, rolling onto his side and reaching for a pillow, the one he’d had to bite down on last night when Bucky brought him off so hard he saw stars. “Oh, _Bucky_ -”

Steve finds that once he starts to cry, he can’t remember how to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okaY OKAY 
> 
> BEFORE you start with the projectiles: next chapter is gonna make this whoooole rollercoaster worth it. Just trust me.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd here we have it, the final chapter :3 
> 
> Minor content warning for grief, loss, mourning and funeral things. All the sad things.

**Now**

  
_Look at how the time goes past_  
_But I'm all alone at last_  
_Rolling home to you_  


Neil Young — Old Man

"Of course I wouldn't hurt you," Bucky mutters, relenting, "but that ain't the point."

"Bucky, he would’ve killed me," Steve says, moving towards him on the bed. He tentatively puts a hand on Bucky's knee. "You know he would. If not him, one of his cronies." He tries for a crooked smile, gets halfway there. "You might'a saved my life, Buck."

"Only you could find the bright side of this," Bucky mutters. He doesn't meet Steve’s eyes, doesn't quite match his smile, but it's still something of an olive branch and Steve seems pleased to have it.

Steve sighs and pulls his hand away. "That wasn't the whole reason you left though."

Bucky hangs his head. "Yer pa, he was so upset. Yer ma would've been too, I know. You never knew how lucky you were, Stevie, having two parents like that, who cared about you more'n life itself. I couldn't bear that I got in the middle of that, got between you."

"And you thought runnin' away would fix that?'

"I was gonna come back," Bucky says, almost pleading for Steve to understand. "I wanted to give you space, all of ya. But then I ran into Rumlow."

Steve grits his teeth. "That stupid son of a bitch."

"Could just as easily mean me by that," Bucky says with an awkward smile, but the attempt at levity falls flat.

"You really thought I'd hate you over this," Steve mutters. It's only half a question: he already knows the answer. He shakes his head sadly. "I wish you'd trusted me to ask me what I thought."

Bucky gets to his feet and goes back to the window. "It was my choice," he says firmly.

"But—"

"No, Steve. It was my choice. You were too young, you needed to live your life, away from a thug like me. That's my choice, you can't argue with it."

There's a long pause, so long that Bucky starts to wonder if Steve had somehow snuck out of the room. But then the mattress springs creak as Steve gets to his feet, and he pads across the room to Bucky. "Okay," he says quietly. "Okay, I can do that." He brushes the hair off Bucky’s neck, making him shiver. "But you're not a thug, Bucky."

Bucky feels the shiver move through him. "Stevie, don't—"

"You know what you gotta say to make me stop," Steve teases, and Bucky can't help moaning softly when Steve stands up on tiptoe to kiss the back of his neck. 

"We shouldn't—"

"Says who?" Steve's hands come around his waist, pulling Bucky back against him. It's comforting and familiar, but at the same time, the way Steve touches him has changed. He always used to be in a hurry; now he's less eager, more seductive. Bucky groans when Steve tips his head back by his ponytail and nips his earlobe gently.

"Christ," Bucky moans. "Apple pie, Stevie," he says fondly, starting to laugh, "apple pie, you little shit." Steve starts to pull his hands away, but Bucky grabs hold of his arms and holds them there, wrapped around him, with Steve's forehead pressed against his left shoulder. "That ain't fair."

"Sorry. Just—" Steve sighs against his back. "I missed you. It's — nice, knowing what to do."

"Then how come I had to tell you to stop?" Bucky asks him.

"I know you wanna, you just don't think you're allowed."

"And what makes you think I wanna?"

"Bucky, you're a kindergarten picture book, I _know_ how to read you."

Despite himself, Bucky snorts with laughter. He turns to Steve and cups his face in both hands so he can bend down for one chaste kiss. It's over almost the moment it starts, but just that snatched taste is enough to make Bucky's stomach roll pleasantly. "I ain't here for one last roll in the hay, kitten," he forces himself to say, brushing Steve’s hair to one side. Steve leans into his touch, so familiar that Bucky has to work hard not to lean down and kiss him again, and again. "You tamed the casual screw right outta me," he says instead.

Steve drops his head against Bucky’s shoulder. "Fuck, I forgot," he murmurs, but he doesn't sound mad. "Then — can we keep talkin'? I feel like we've still got a lot of ground to cover."

"Yeah, kiddo. I'm goin' nowhere."

 

 

Next morning they go by a nearby diner Bucky eats at sometimes. They slept in after talking til almost three, so they manage to sneak in at around eleven and miss both the morning and lunchtime rush. The place is almost empty when they get there, which Bucky is glad of; he wants Steve to himself a little longer, before he goes back to his life. Steve still looks like an out-of-towner, even though he’s ditched the suit in favor of an expensive looking pair of slim, sagging jeans, a soft looking tee and a hoodie. The town ain’t much for tourists, and they’ve already gotten a couple of odd looks, but it’s not like Bucky would complain with the way Steve’s ass looks in those jeans. 

They take a booth, which might be the worst idea in the world, because Bucky can't stop _staring_. He's infinitely fascinated by the ways that Steve has changed, and the ways he hasn't at all. He doesn't squint to read the menu because he finally got contacts, but he still taps out the same absent pattern with his fingertips on the table while he considers what to order. 

The waitress knows Bucky by sight and makes a little friendly conversation with them while they order. 

"I should get home after this," Bucky says, fretful. "Get a change of clothes, I must stink to high heaven."

Steve grins at him. "As someone who woke up spooning you, I can assure you it ain't that bad."

Bucky glances away, appalled to find himself blushing. He hadn't meant to stay; they'd started talking — nothing important, just things they remembered here and there — and then it was late, and he was too drunk to drive, and by that point they already had their heads on the pillows and Steve was watching him with soft, heavy eyes. 

Luckily, Steve changes the subject, and they talk about nothing much until their food arrives. Steve lights up at the sight of it, and Bucky watches him with an indulgent smile. He's still the same kid in a lot of ways.

"Hey, Bucky?"

Bucky shakes himself, realizing Steve is watching him and waiting for an answer. "Huh? Sorry, sweetheart, I was daydreamin'." 

He expects a smart remark, but to his surprise, Steve goes a little pink and gestures across the table. "Could ya pass the syrup, honeybunch? "

Bucky grins self-consciously. "Sorry," he says, sliding the jug over. "Force of habit."

Steve shakes his head while he drizzles his obscene stack of pancakes with syrup. "I don't mind," he says, avoiding Bucky’s gaze. "Always liked you givin' me nicknames." He glances up when he's done drowning his breakfast, and Bucky must have a look on his face 'cause Steve's gets all defensive. "Don't normally eat like this," he mutters. "I ain't s'posed to, but I figure, screw it. Funeral's as good a reason as any to treat yerself."

"You on some kinda diet now?" Bucky teases, pouring syrup on his own breakfast. "Some Atkins bullshit?"

Steve smirks and holds a dripping forkful of pancake up to his mouth. "Diabetes," he says with a shrug. "Got diagnosed when I moved to college. Type one but they'd never picked it up before."

Bucky winces. "I'm sorry, kiddo, that's rough."

"Ain't so bad," Steve says through a mouthful of breakfast. "Not s'posed to drink whiskey all night or cover my breakfast in syrup, but fuck it. This past twelve hours has been weird all over."

There ain't much to say to that but nod his agreement, so Bucky does just that and picks up his coffee. He glances around the diner so's to stop himself staring at Steve so much, but then Steve nudges him under the table with his foot and Bucky's attention snaps right back.

"Too weird?" Steve asks, his eyes bright with mischief. 

"You ask me," Bucky says, setting down his cup and picking up his knife again, "I've been needing a little more weird in my life lately." Steve's smile is brilliant. He presses his thigh against Bucky’s, and Bucky presses right back.

"So, you gonna come home?" Steve asks, before shovelling in another huge bite of pancakes.

Bucky rolls his eyes. "I said I would, didn't I?"

Steve nods, his eyes shining, and he grins awkwardly with his mouth full. There's syrup running down his chin. Bucky can feel himself leaning out over the precipice, but he's done with worrying about whether or not he's gonna fall. He reaches out slowly and wipes Steve's chin off with his thumb before sucking it clean. Why let himself fall if he could jump?

Steve just watches him, wide-eyed, before swallowing thickly. "Buck," he says, with a bewildered smile. 

"We oughta get on the road soon. Long drive still."

 

 

Karen isn’t home when Bucky stops by to grab his things. It turns out to be easier than he’d hoped; she’s piled his things up in the middle of the front room, left him a note on the table. 

_You think after all the shit you’ve put me through you get to just not come home and not even tell me??? Forget Saturday, I want you out by the time I get home tonight. Have a nice fucking life, Jim._

Bucky winces and puts the note back where he found it. He strips off where he is, rooting through a garbage bag of clothes for something clean to wear, tossing aside things he won’t bother taking with him. He doesn’t have much else to pack other than clothes. The books he leaves, apart from a couple he’s carried around for years; the only other things he needs are his toothbrush, his survival gear in case he ends up roughing it for a few days here and there, and the tin he keeps his photographs in. He loads up his ex-army backpack and a garbage bag, then leaves Karen a note on the back of hers telling her to toss or sell the rest. He wishes her the best with her new boyfriend. 

Steve’s dozing in the passenger seat when Bucky gets back to the truck, not even waking when Bucky tosses his things in the back with Steve’s case and slams the door. Bucky decides not to wake him, partly because he looks like he doesn’t get enough sleep, and partly because Bucky doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he won’t be coming back here. He takes a last look back at the apartment and realizes that he’s happy to leave. Every place he’s drifted through over the past few years has left him feeling flat and indifferent, but he feels genuinely excited, pleased, to be leaving. He glances across at Steve, tucked up against the window with his jacket wrapped up for a pillow. Yeah, for once it feels good to be leaving. 

 

 

They drive most of the day; Steve takes over when they stop mid afternoon for gas and food, and to call his mom. Bucky takes charge of buying the snacks, so that Steve can speak to her in private, but he’s still talking when Bucky gets back, so he catches the tail end of the conversation.

“Ma, I — I’m bringin’ someone back with me.” Steve groans and runs his fingers through his hair absently. “No, Ma, it ain’t like — I mean it might be, but — Ma, listen, wouldya? I just — don’t want ya to be surprised when I ain’t alone, alright?” He glances over suddenly, catching sight of Bucky, and he smiles. “Ma, I gotta get back on the road. I’ll see you tonight.”

Bucky hands him a soda, which Steve takes after a moment's hesitation. "Wanna swap?" Bucky asks, watching his face.

Steve forces an awkward smile. "Nah, it—"

"Shit, I forgot." Bucky grabs the drink back before he can open it and smiles ruefully. "Sugar, right? I'll go switch it."

"Aw, Bucky, no—" 

Steve reaches for him, trying to swipe the bottle back, but Bucky dances out of reach. "Back in a minute. Any requests?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "Sure. You know 'Son of a Preacher Man'?"

"Just fer that, I'm gettin' you _extra_ sugar."

They talk more once they're back on the road, but after a little while the conversation drifts to silence. Bucky fiddles with the radio, but all he can catch is static. 

"You think I should'a told her you were comin'?" Steve asks at last. Bucky looks round at him in surprise, but he's staring determinedly through the windshield, his knuckles tight on the wheel. 

"I guess that depends," Bucky says slowly, considering his answer. "She gonna be happy to see me?"

Steve finally cracks an anxious smile, sparing Bucky a brief glance. "I hope so. She always thought the world of you." He grins to himself. "Said maybe you were out of my league anyway. Trying to cheer me up, you know?" 

"So should I be worried about her fetchin' the shotgun this time?"

"Why?" Steve asks, slyly amused. "You feel like gettin' hitched?"

Bucky snorts with laughter, because that's expected, but a little part of him is wondering if he _could_ settle down for Steve, the way he's never quite managed for anyone else. He's not sure he could but he likes the thought, and he guiltily tucks it away for later. 

"Hey, Buck?"

"Mm?"

"Would you — uh, could you sing somethin'?"

Bucky laughs. "You want me to sing?" When Steve only replies with a shrug, Bucky can't help but feel a little bad, so he racks his brain for a song. He takes a deep breath and clears his throat self-consciously. "Well I dreamed I saw the knights in armor coming, saying something about a queen—"

Steve is quiet while he sings, his expression strange and distant. Bucky gives up after one verse and sighs. "Sorry," he mutters, "picked about the most maudlin song possible."

"No, I like it," Steve says, looking at him. "Please don't stop."

"Sure." Bucky smiles, keeping his eyes on the road. That way at least one of them is. 

 

 

By the time they reach the county line, Bucky's a mix of nerves and anticipation. Steve is tapping his thumbs on top of the steering wheel to a rhythm Bucky can’t fathom. He reaches over to put his hand on top of Steve’s; with a surprised smile, Steve links their fingers together. 

At the edge of town they both start to get twitchy, their palms sweating, both glancing furtively around at half remembered landmarks. They don't technically need to go through town: skirting around would only add five minutes to the journey, but Bucky doesn't suggest they change routes. 

“Strange being back?” he asks Steve gently. 

Steve shrugs. “It’s not home anymore, not really. How about you?”

“I only really lived here five months,” Bucky says, looking down at his hands. “This town’s got bad associations, I guess. That farm, though——” He trails off, glancing over to look at Steve, tight-knuckled on the wheel, looking at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. “——that’s the closest thing to home I’ve had since I left my family.”

“You talk such shit, Barnes,” Steve says. Behind the dismissive tone, Bucky thinks he might sound a little choked up, but he’s a better man than to point it out. 

Besides, he gets a little choked up himself when Steve turns down the dirt track to the farmhouse. It seems longer than he remembers, but probably that's just the darkness, and he's surprised when the headlights suddenly roll over the yard and the front porch of the house. 

Even though Steve must be just as desperate to stretch his legs as Bucky, he hesitates for a few moments after killing the engine. Bucky wants to reach over to him again, but he ain't sure it's the right moment. Before he can make up his mind, Steve opens the door and gets out, but he must've heard Bucky thinking, because he comes right around to the other side just as Bucky’s slamming his door shut, and grabs hold of his hand. 

Bucky’s so nervous he wants to throw up, but he gives Steve's hand an encouraging squeeze and follows him over to the porch. Steve reaches up to ring the bell, while Bucky shifts from one foot to the other, trying hard not to think about things going wrong. It's too late for that. 

“Maybe she went to bed,” Steve mutters to himself. He glances at his watch; it’s just after ten, which means they made pretty good time. “She said she’d be up though.”

“Then she’ll be up.”

"Bucky?" Steve whispers. 

"Yeah, kiddo?"

Before Steve can says what's on his mind, a light flicks on in the hallway, then the door swings open.

"Stevie!"

Steve is smothered almost instantly by his ma's embrace, huffing a vague sound of protest into her shoulder before letting himself be manhandled. "Oh, my baby," she croons, petting his hair. For once, Steve seems not to mind the babying; he just buries himself in her arms, his head tucked in against her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Mama," he mutters. "I'm sorry about Dad, an' I'm sorry I wasn't here."

"You're here now and that's what matters."

Bucky shuffles awkwardly just as they pull back and Mrs. Rogers turns to look at him. She starts to smile, and then her eyes get wide like she can't quite believe what she's seeing.

“Bucky?” she whispers, soft and uncertain. She glances at Steve, then back to him. “That ain’t really Bucky Barnes?” He nods, breaking into a nervous grin, and she laughs and reaches for him. “Our long lost farmhand, as I live and breathe!” She clutches him to her, laughing with disbelief, and Bucky can’t help laughing too. He wraps his arms around her waist and hugs her back, surprised to find a tightness in the back of his throat and behind his eyes. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her.

“Ma, let him go,” Steve says irritably. 

“It’s good t’see you again, Sarah,” he says shyly once she releases him. 

She shakes her head at them both, smiling broadly. “Feel like I should’ve guessed you’d somehow show up here together one day,” she says, looking from one to the other of them. “C’mon, come inside and have somethin’ to eat, and you can tell me everything.”

 

 

Maybe it's something to do with being back on the farm, but even though they stay up talking with Steve's ma into the early hours, Bucky`s awake not long after dawn. He lies in bed for a little while, trying to sleep, before giving up and pulling on some sweatpants and a t-shirt and heading downstairs for a glass of water. Mrs. Rogers is already in the kitchen, wearing a fluffy bathrobe and staring absently out of the window with a cup of coffee in her hands.

"Uh, mornin’," Bucky says self consciously.

She turns suddenly, almost surprised to see him, and gives him a vague smile. “Mornin’ honey, you sleep okay?"

He nods. "Always did sleep well out in the country like this. It's peaceful."

"Sure is." She takes a sip of her coffee and looks back out across the yard. "Listen, sweetheart, there’s somethin’ I need to say to you — something John would’ve wanted me to say—”

“Sarah, I—”

She scowls at him. “Listen to your elders.” Bucky smiles ruefully and nods, and she goes on. “I don’t know if Steve’s told you, but I’d guessed what was between the pair of you, and maybe I should’ve mentioned it to my husband sooner. Maybe the whole darn mess could’ve been avoided if I had.” She sighs and shakes her head. “But the past is the past, so there’s no use worryin’ about it now.”

"I don't know what he'd think of me being here now," Bucky mutters. "I think I'd better not come to the church later. It's no disrespect to either of you, of course."

"Are you worried what the neighbors are gonna say?" she teases, though she still doesn't turn to look at him. "John never gave a damn what anyone around here thought of him, so if you wanna be at that funeral, you be there. If not, none of us will think less of you."

“Thanks Sarah,” Bucky says. “And thanks, for letting me come back. Steve said — well it don't matter what he said, and I don't expect you'll to just forgive me, but—”

“There's nothing to forgive,” she says, almost sternly. “You weren't doing anything wrong, either of you.”

Bucky says nothing to that. He wants to believe it; being older and, hopefully, wiser, he knows it’s true, but it’s still not easy to convince himself.

“All I wanna say,” Sarah says gently, “is that John always regretted what happened between you and him. He never wanted to drive you away like that, not for good.” She smiles and reaches out to touch his arm. “I'm so glad you came back to us."

“Me too,” Bucky says, reaching up to put his hand over hers. He can't help thinking of Rumlow, the thought making him sick to his stomach, but maybe it’s time he made his peace with that.

“So, is that son of mine still sleeping?” she asks, looking at him slyly.

Bucky smirks. “I wouldn't know.”

“Uh huh,” she teases, and Bucky can’t tell if she believes him or not. “I'll get him up in a minute. You hungry?”

He nods. "Can I help with breakfast?"

"No you cannot," she says briskly. "It's too long since I had people around here to appreciate my cooking. You're a guest, so you'll sit down, do as you're told and enjoy yer breakfast."

"Yes ma'am."

“Besides, the troops’ll start arrivin’ soon. An’ believe me, you wanna be ready when that happens.”

Bucky chews his bottom lip. “Sarah?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“I’m real sorry about Mister Rogers. He was a good man, an’ I—”

“That’s enough,” Sarah says sharply, cutting him off. After a moment she gives him a watery smile in apology. “Thank you, Bucky, but I — I’m only just holding together right now, and I don’t think I can hold out through the funeral _and_ you bein’ sorry an’ self-sacrificing when there’s no need.”

Bucky grimaces slightly, but he nods at her. "Yes ma'am. I was just gonna say that anything you need while I'm here, you just ask."

She pats his hand gently. "I will. Now," she says, getting to her feet. "I'd better see if that boy of mine is ready to emerge." She starts to move toward the door, but then she stops and friends. "Darn, I gotta do the feeding."

"I could," Bucky starts, getting out of his chair, but she shakes her head quickly.

"It's changed since you were here, I'll be quicker. You get Steve up for me, alright?"

She's gone before he can argue, switching out her slippers for a pair of rubber boots at the back porch, and marching outside in her bathrobe. Bucky watches her go with an admiring smile, but then he remembers his own duty and he feels a surge of trepidation. Waking up together yesterday was different, a one-off. Bucky had only hesitated for a moment last night when Steve jokingly invited him to share, and save the sheets in the guest room, but it's as much to do with not wanting to see Steve's bedroom again as it is about avoiding a dumb mistake. 

Still, there's nothing to be scared of in a teenage boy's bedroom, so Bucky screws up his courage and climbs the stairs. He only knows which door is Steve's from having it pointed out last night; the only other time he'd seen it had been from the other side of the door, after all. For all that he'd been in the farmhouse a hundred times, sat in the kitchen or the den, he'd never made it upstairs but that one time, before last night.

"Steve?" He knocks on the door, none too hard, but it doesn't get any kind of response. He tries again a little louder. "Steve, c'mon, yer ma's making breakfast!"

There's still no response, and for a second Bucky almost walks away, but the weak, pathetic part of him can't resist the chance to see Steve half asleep one more time. He's always at his most affectionate when he's just woken up, before his temper kicks in. Bucky hates himself a little, but it doesn't stop him from knocking again and letting Steve know he'll be coming in before he turns the handle.

Even in the half light with the curtains drawn, it's a kick in the gut to see that the room is exactly as he last saw it. Steve is curled up tight, facing away from him, bundled up in his patchwork quilt like a piece of candy in a wrapper. Once he's caught his breath, Bucky goes to the window first to open the curtains a crack and let some light in. Steve makes a soft noise in his sleep, but he doesn't seem to wake up, so Bucky goes over and sits on the edge of the bed. 

"Steve," he says in a low voice, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Hey, Stevie. Wake up, kiddo."

Steve's eyes flick open suddenly, his body tensing, but then he catches sight of Bucky and he shuts them again, smiling indulgently. "Yer still here," he mumbles. He shuffles closer, pressing himself up against Bucky`s thigh through the blankets. "M glad yer here."

Without thinking, Bucky moves his hand up to pet Steve's hair, and Steve turns into it with a happy groan. "Yer ma said to get you up. She's making breakfast."

"More pancakes, I bet," Steve mumbles. "I'll have a heart attack by the end of the week." Bucky’s hand stops moving, and a second later Steve’s shoulder goes rigid. “Shit.”

“That’s probably gonna happen a lot,” Bucky says quietly. “Everyone says stupid shit when someone dies, y’know?”

Steve nods. “Yeah.” He pushes himself into a sitting position, so Bucky quickly stands up, putting his hands back where they belong — not touching Steve. 

“I’ll be downstairs,” he says, walking around the bed to the door.

Steve nods, and mumbles through his yawn. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

 

 

Sarah wasn’t kidding about the troops. Bucky’s halfway through cramming himself into a wrinkled black shirt that’s the closest thing he has to either smart or funereal, when an army of middle-aged women arrive at the farmhouse. They bring with them an entire feast in casseroles, bars, salad and sandwiches, and start setting it out on the old trestle tables in the empty barn.

Bucky tries to help, but Sarah just shoos him off with a muttered, "Just take Steve for a walk or something, Bucky, I'm begging you. The preacher will be here in an hour, just keep him distracted til then, alright?"

She's whisked away again before he can question her orders, but it makes a funny kind of sense suddenly that they'd have the funeral here after all.

He finds Steve on the tire swing at the back of the farmhouse, oscillating gently with a dazed look on his face. He's still wearing his pajama pants and a hoodie, his head tipped absently against one of the ropes.

"Hey," Bucky says, walking over to him and giving the swing a gentle push. "You goin’ like that?"

"You here to convince me otherwise?" Steve snaps.

Bucky gives him another gentle push on the backswing and shrugs. "Nope. Truth told, I think yer ma's just glad to have you here."

"Yeah." Steve sounds unconvinced, but Bucky doesn't push it. "She asked me to say something. At the service."

Bucky winces. "Ah. You gonna do it?"

Steve shrugs. "He's my dad. How's it gonna look if I just flat refuse?" He sighs heavily. "Got no clue what I'm gonna say though."

“Say whatever you want.” Steve gives him the stinkeye, but Bucky laughs. “Really, kiddo, what difference does it make now?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, and Bucky lets the swing come almost to a stop while he watches Steve watch the ground, waiting for the right words to come. “Did you know this swing is new?” Steve says at last. 

Frowning, Bucky opens his mouth to reply — he remembers this swing well, and he’s surprised Steve doesn’t — but then he takes another look and he notices that the rope is fairly new, and the tire doesn’t look as worn as it ought to. “He replaced it then?” Bucky says thoughtfully, grabbing one of the ropes and running his fingers over the coarse texture. “For the kids at church?”

“He ain’t delivered a sermon here since I left home,” Steve says, his face a picture of misery, and Bucky hurts to hear how bitter and confused he sounds. 

“So he made it fer you then.”

Steve shakes his head furiously. “Why? I just don’t — why _bother_?”

The answer’s obvious to Bucky, but he doesn’t say a word, because he’s pretty sure Steve already knows it too. Giving his face a quick scrub with his sleeve, Steve pushes himself off the swing and jumps down into the grass, taking a few quick steps away from Bucky. “I’m gonna get ready.”

“There’s no rush,” Bucky says, noncommittally, not wanting to spook Steve by seeming too eager. “If you wanted to take a walk or somethin’. Get away from all this mess.”

Steve shakes his head. “Thanks, Bucky. But I wanna be on my own.” He forces a sigh, fakes half a smile. “Besides, I got work to do anyhow. Might as well get some in while I can.”

“Sure,” Bucky says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ll catch you in a little while then.”

“Yeah, in a little while.”

Steve heads into the house without a second look, leaving Bucky on his own by the old shed out back. He doesn’t begrudge Steve some time alone, not in the slightest, but he does feel kinda like a third wheel now, with nothing to do and nobody wanting his help. For maybe the fifth or sixth time that day, he starts to wonder if he made a big mistake coming back here. Still, knowing the place as well as he does at least means he knows how to get by the barn without being seen by the local Christian Housewife Brigade, and he's halfway to the old cabin up the hill before he realizes where his feet are taking him. 

He's tempted for a moment to turn around, maybe walk over to the lake instead, but he figures it would be stupid to come all this way and not at least take a look. 

From a distance the cabin looks a lot like he left it, but when he gets a little closer, Bucky can see that time hasn't been kind to the place. The window have tarp over the insides, and the roof has collapsed in one corner. The door is still intact, and it's stiff in its frame, but it gives under some pressure from his shoulder. 

Inside, the place smells like rotting wood, but it still makes Bucky`s heart catch in his throat. Aside from the damage done by time, neglect, and what looks like a family of squirrels, it's just as he left it. There are paint cans stacked in a corner by the bathroom; mildewed books scattered on the floor from his hurried packing; cans of food in the open kitchen cupboards. 

Bucky ain't sure what he was expecting. Maybe for the place to be burned down, or turned into a storage shed. Not this mausoleum: a miserable shrine to whatever's left of what he and Steve had. Part of him really does want to torch the place, and he fingers the lighter in his pocket for a moment before stepping back into the sunlight and dragging the warped door shut behind him. 

 

 

Maybe he hasn’t been to a whole lot of funerals, but Bucky would be willing to bet this one’s a little unconventional. He picks a folding chair as near to the back of the barn as he can, much as he wishes he was sitting up front with Steve, maybe holding his hand if he wanted, or just sitting there in his space to keep him grounded. Even from so far back, he looks tense. Bucky knows Steve’s shoulders still, better than he’d have thought. He must be nervous about giving his speech. Or angry, maybe. Likely both. 

Bucky tunes out most of the service, unable to take his eyes off Steve. At one point he turns around, scanning over the crowd quickly. Bucky hopes Steve is looking for him, but their eyes don’t meet, and Steve turns back to the front quickly when the preacher starts speaking again. 

“And now, we’d like to ask John’s son Stephen to come up and say a few words.”

For a long moment, Steve doesn’t move. 

“Come on, Stevie,” Bucky whispers under his breath. Steve’s shoulders slump briefly, then he straightens up and goes to the front. 

"Supposedly,” Steve begins, his voice a little shaky, “the best kind of leader is someone who doesn't see themselves as a leader.”

He pauses and licks his lips nervously. His eyes are scanning the crowd again, and Bucky sits up straighter in his chair. He can tell the moment Steve spots him, because he tilts his head slightly, before glancing down at his hands. When he goes on, his voice is stronger.

“People keep telling me I'm the right choice to give a eulogy for my dad, but I feel like the last person who oughta be up here. I know my pa felt that too: about being Captain of his platoon, about leading his own congregation. He didn't wanna be in charge. He just saw a job that needed doing, a space that needed a body and a compassionate heart, and he stepped up.

"I tell people I didn't know him very well, but I did. I knew him better than I've known almost anyone, but I guess I didn't understand him. When I was a kid, he was my hero. He fought bad guys, righted wrongs, and I wanted to be just like him. He never told me much about being in the army, but I could see what it had done to him. He was friendly to everyone, but he found it hard to let people get close. He loved my mama and me more than anything, and I know he did his best to make sure we knew it.

"And pardon my French, but he was a stubborn son of a bitch. I guess it's him I have to thank for that trait, that and my nose.”

Steve pauses while the congregation laughs a little, but his smile is tight and forced. “He and my ma taught me to fight for what I knew was right, and never back down from that. And I'm sorry—” He stops again and takes a deep, ragged breath. “Pa, I'm so sorry, I never said thank you for that. So — thanks, for being my dad, and for teaching me how to be me. And I hope you found what you were looking for up there."

 

 

Bucky’s hardly surprised that he doesn’t get to talk to Steve after the funeral. Steve sticks close to his mom, which is where he oughta be, after all, while Bucky gets corralled by a gang of fussy housewives who look at him like they want to eat him for dinner. He doesn’t really recognize any of the guests, and if anyone remembers him, they certainly don’t mention it. It’s a beautiful day: not quite warm, but the sun is out, making the fall colors bright. At least five people talk to Bucky about the weather, the ceremony, and the lemon bars, before he catches sight of Steve making a break for the buffet table.

“If y’all would just excuse me,” he says politely to the three women currently taking turns making eyes at him, while they gossip about everyone’s recipes. Clutching his paper plate, he weaves over to where Steve is standing, picking apart a little triangle-shaped sandwich with a dazed, mournful expression.

“Hey there,” Bucky says gently, coming up to him. 

Steve looks up blankly for a moment, before sighing and abandoning his slow destruction of the sandwich. “Hi.”

“Pretty speech.”

“It’s just words,” Steve says with a shrug. “Think they bought it?”

Bucky smiles and cuffs his shoulder lightly. “Yer a natural. I mean it, Stevie, you should be proud’a yerself.”

“Proud,” Steve mutters, chewing it over. He looks away, gazing out at the hill that slopes up to the pond. “No, I’m not proud of myself for any of this.”

“Stevie—” Bucky’s brow creases as he fights the urge to reach out and put his arms around Steve. Even if Steve wanted that from him right now, Bucky’s fairly sure he wouldn’t want the attention in front of all these people. “I just mean — you oughta be proud’a yerself fer gettin’ up there and sayin’ all that.”

Steve reaches out to put his plate down on the end of the table, sighing heavily. With his hands free, he brushes his hair back from his face, looking like he’s gathering his thoughts. “It’s easy to say things now,” Steve says, looking off to one side again. 

“Steven!”

They both look round suddenly at a loud, friendly voice in their ears, and Bucky recognizes the owner as one of the women who’d tried to force-feed him an extra brownie by hand.

“Hi, Mrs. Tucker,” Steve says after a moment’s hesitation, and the woman gives him a sympathetic smile. 

“Oh, sweetheart, this must be such a hard time for you and your mama.” She surges forward, arms outstretched with the threat of a hug, but to Bucky’s amusement, Steve manages to duck it by turning away to grab his plate again, as if he hadn’t seen her moving. She fumbles awkwardly, and settles for patting his shoulder. Steve turns back to her with a big fake smile. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, mushing his sandwich back together as if he might reconsider eating it. “We’ll get by, I expect.”

She nods, looking to Bucky for confirmation as she speaks again. “Oh, I’m sure, I’m sure. Yer mama’s a tough one, and yer pa’s in a better place after all.”

“Right,” Bucky says, when she prompts him with a twitch of her eyebrows, but he keeps darting his gaze back to Steve, and he can’t help noticing the way his jaw tightens and his eyes narrow slightly when she brings up “a better place.” “Thanks for yer kind words, ma’am,” he says, starting to turn her away, but apparently she’s not going to be dissuaded so easily, because she reaches out to put a hand on his arm and flutters her eyelashes.

“Now, what kinda friend would I be if I didn’t make sure you tried some of my homemade fruit pie? Perfect thing for grievin’.”

Bucky glances back at Steve, who’s starting to look a bit sick. “We’re just fine, ma’am, thank you—”

“Just one little piece, c’mon,” she wheedles, bustling over to the table and grabbing up a couple of fresh plates before reaching over to a big, half empty pie dish. “You ask me, you _both_ could use some feedin’ up, an’ there’s no time more important to keep up yer strength than when you ain’t feelin’ yer best.” 

Bucky turns back to Steve with a hopeless look on his face, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice. Meanwhile, Mrs. Tucker has served up two slices of, admittedly, really delicious-looking pie, and she turns around then, brandishing them proudly. 

“Go on then,” she says brightly. “There ain’t no way two nice Southern boys like you won’t eat a slice of homemade apple pie.” 

“ _Apple_ pie?” Bucky asks her quickly, glancing at Steve. 

She laughs and thrust a plate towards Steve. “C’mon, sweetheart,” she says, in the kind of voice you’d use to get a toddler to eat his peas. “You look like an apple pie kinda boy.”

Steve casts a frantic look at Bucky finally, shaking his head slowly. “No,” he says, edging around her. “I — no, thank you, I—”

“He can’t eat sugar,” Bucky says quickly, reaching out to grab hold of Steve’s wrist. “And he’s gotta take his insulin shot now, don’tcha?”

Bewildered, Steve turns and looks at him. “I — no, I—”

“I’m gonna get him some air,” Bucky says, dragging Steve away from her. “That, uh — yer pie looks great though, thanks!” 

They stumble out into the cold sunshine, and while Steve still looks pretty dazed, he’s apparently got the presence of mind to pull his arm free of Bucky’s. Scowling, he shoves his hands in his pockets instead and walks a little way from the barn. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, starting after him. “You okay?”

“What was that about?” Steve looks like he can’t decide between getting mad and being an asshole just for the hell of it, and he pulls on a sneer as he keeps talking. “All that talk about apple pie put you in the mood for somethin’, Barnes?”

Bucky shakes his head. It stings a little, but he won’t let himself rise to the bait. He’s not stupid; Steve wasn’t like this yesterday, or the night before, when he had _every_ reason to be angry with Bucky. “I was thinkin’ of a walk,” he says in a carefully even tone. “You looked like you could use a break is all, and I know I could.”

“Well, who doesn't need a break from _that_?” Steve mutters, casting a dark look back at the crowded barn. “Christ. You'd think someone had died.”

Bucky lets himself smirk, but the amusement in Steve’s expression is hollow. “Nobody here but me, Stevie,” he says quietly. “Ya don’t gotta try and impress me.”

Throwing up his hands — whether in surrender or dismissal is hard to tell — Steve turns and starts walking away up the path. Bucky falls into step with him, leaving enough space that Steve won’t feel crowded. They walk up as far as the pond in silence, before Steve sighs heavily, like a teenager told to do their chores. “So,” he says reluctantly, but Bucky can still hear the anger simmering under his careless tone. “You wanted to talk?”

“Nah,” Bucky says, shrugging affably. “Done enough talkin’ fer one day. Y’know, it was a lovely service, beautiful weather, too much egg salad at the buffet table—”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, Dad would’a hated it.”

Bucky gives it another minute or so of quiet before he dares to broach the subject. “Y’know, I don't mind talking about yer dad. If you think it would help.”

He’s judged it badly, though, if he’d expected Steve to talk. He gets a mutinous look on his face instead, halting in place for a moment and staring down while he toes at the ground. As Bucky turns back to watch him, Steve takes a deep breath, then lets his shoulders sag. “Why d’ya care so much?” he asks in a low voice. There’s an edge of suspicion that tells Bucky he’d better tread carefully.

“I—” he starts to say, but Steve ain’t done.

“I mean, Jesus, Bucky,” Steve says sharply, looking at him. “The guy fucked you over, and you barely knew him. _I_ barely knew him.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns away quickly, taking a few steps off the path, working himself up to it. His hands come out again, flexing into fists and uncurling again. “I hadn’t seen him since me’n Peggy got married, y’know. That’s three years, and we hardly even spoke.” He snorts with a flicker of unhappy amusement. “I’m fairly sure he only came along to the wedding to tell me it was a stupid fuckin’ idea. I guess he was right in the end. Shoulda gone to him for all my dating advice.”

Bucky looks at him sadly. “I didn’t know that, Steve, I’m sorry.” He swallows, willing himself to go through with saying this. “What I do know is you cared about each other. And I know I got in the way of that.”

To his surprise, Steve just lets out a little huff of frustration and shakes his head. “Don't flatter yourself. We'd have gone the same way even without your help.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I don't — fuck, just forget it, Bucky, I don't wanna discuss it." Spitting the words out, he turns back towards the farmhouse, but then he spins around on the spot to face Bucky again, arms flailing a little. "You know what? You don't have a fucking clue what you came between or didn't, because you weren't there to see it."

Bucky’s jaw clenches, and his gut churns. Steve always had a temper, but Bucky`s rarely seen him be _cruel_. He shakes his head a little, determined not to let it hurt. 

"Yeah, I deserved that,” he says. “I know it might not mean much, but I'm here now." Steve’s expression twitches a little, as if he might lash out again, but he doesn’t say a word. Inwardly, Bucky breathes a small sigh of relief. “And, I dunno,” he presses on, “maybe talkin’ to me might be better than all those old ladies fussing about.”

Steve groans. “Bucky—”

“Or you can just forget I said anything,” he adds, his courage drying up. “I know it ain’t my place.”

“Nah, it ain’t that,” Steve mutters, looking down at his feet. 

He looks tired and sad, and Bucky wants nothing more than to carry him up to the house and put him to bed. Wherever he goes, Bucky seems to drag along the reputation of being protective, of looking out for people, and he wonders now if that’s something he always had, or if Steve brought it out in the first place. 

“I dunno what I'm supposed to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t wanna.”

Steve shakes his head furiously. There’s an empty bucket lying nearby and he turns to give it a vicious kick, booting it into the air. It crashes to the ground a few feet away, but its clattering landing is overlaid by the sound of Steve letting out an anguished yell. 

“Fuck!” he shouts, spinning around again like he might be looking for something else to throw a punch at. When he catches sight of Bucky again, he deflates visibly, sinking into himself. They’ve ended up near a collection of old tree stumps, and Steve sinks down onto one, bowing his head. “You'd think,” he says quietly; Bucky has to move closer to hear him. “There are just. There are some things you don't do, you know? Not when you're supposed to love someone no matter what.”

Bucky shudders, Steve’s words ripping through him like something real, something that can tear. He makes himself put one foot in front of the other, and crouches down in front of Steve. "You’re right, there are,” he says awkwardly, reaching out to touch Steve’s knee. He barely brushes it with his fingers before he thinks better of it, and Steve looks up at him sharply as he pulls his hand back. “And coming between you and yer family—" He hesitates when Steve's expression twists, his brow creasing in frustration, confusion, Bucky`s not quite sure. But, suddenly, it makes a kind of sense. "Fuck," he whispers. "You didn't mean me, did ya?"

Steve looks away from him, and this time Bucky really does have to fight himself not to just up and put his arms around Steve. 

“Pretty pathetic, huh?” Steve mutters, wrapping his arms around himself. 

“No,” Bucky tells him, “hell no. Listen, you’ve got every right to expect the world from yer parents, and every right to hate ‘em when you realize that they’re just people, and they can’t give you the world.”

Steve laughs thickly, finally turning a reluctant eye on Bucky. “I forgot how you’re full of whiskey bottle wisdom.”

“You bet,” Bucky says, feeling his heart soar just to see Steve smile at him, even if it’s just halfway and full of hurt. “There ya go,” he says gently, setting his hand over Steve’s knee this time and giving it a careful squeeze. “There’s that pretty smile I remember.”

For a second, Steve’s smile brightens, before he bites his lip to smother it again. “‘M sorry I dragged you all the way out here.”

“You didn’t, I wanted to be here.” Bucky sighs. “I guess I wanted the chance to — anyway, I don't mind.”

“I’m real glad yer here.”

Bucky smiles at him. “You said that this mornin’.”

“I know, but—” Steve lifts his hands and gestures vaguely, and Bucky can’t help noticing that he looks a little out of breath. “Look. I know — I know you think you have all this shit to make up to me, but that’s not — I owe you just as much. And if—” He breaks off again, pulling in a quick gasp, and Bucky pets his knee carefully.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, take yer time.”

Steve shakes his head, his expression tense and urgent. “Fuck, I can't — I don't know what to _do_ , Bucky. I just know I've gotta make things right with you, I can't miss my chance to do that, not after—” He breaks off, looking like he wants to cry. 

“Christ,” Bucky whispers, reaching up to cup his face. “I want that too, stupid, that’s why I’m here.” 

Steve smiles at him tearfully. “You’re the stupid one.”

Bucky grins. “Can I hug you? I really, really wanna hold you."

Steve looks like he's considering it for a moment. "If you do, I should warn ya, I'm probably gonna start bawling."

Bucky laughs without humor. "Makes two of us." 

“Okay then,” Steve whispers, and lets himself be folded into Bucky’s arms, his shoulders already hitching with a sob.

 

 

A few of Sarah’s friends stick around for the afternoon and into the evening. They help to clean up the barn and parcel up the leftovers, and keep Steve and Sarah distracted from their grief. At least, Bucky assumes that’s their plan. Sarah’s in pretty good spirits, but Steve is quiet and withdrawn all day, dodging questions and sympathy. Each time Bucky catches his eye, Steve will give him half a smile and blush, but mostly they keep a polite distance between them. 

At dinner — which is leftovers, of course — Sarah and her friends trade stories about Steve's dad, treating Bucky as their audience, as if he'd never met the man. Steve chips in once or twice, when prompted for a memory, but otherwise he listens silently and pushes his food around his plate. 

The Christian Housewife Brigade take their leave after blazing through the stack of dishes, and Bucky’s just casting around for something to say to Steve when Sarah comes back in and takes him aside for a talk. Bucky lets himself out the kitchen door while they talk in the other room, feeling that he’s intruded more than enough for one day, and takes a seat on the porch. 

After a few minutes of watching the sun drop down behind the treeline, Bucky hears the screen door open and shut, followed by footsteps behind him, but he’s surprised when he turns and sees Sarah instead of Steve.

“Hey there,” he says, sitting up straighter.

Sarah smiles, wrapping her arms around herself. “You mind if I sit here?”

“Be my guest.” She takes a seat beside him, and Bucky clears his throat awkwardly. “So, uh. Steve okay?”

She casts him a curious look. “I was gonna ask you that.”

“He didn’t say anything to you?”

Sarah shrugs and glances out at the sunset too. “Said he needed to think about things. He went up to his room.”

“Ah.”

“Would it sound too ridiculous if I asked what your intentions are towards my boy?”

Bucky looks round in surprise to find Sarah smiling at him ruefully, and he bows his head to hide his blush. “I don’t have any intentions,” he says truthfully. “I don’t — there’s too much water under the bridge, y’know? We ain’t the people we used to be.”

“You ever think that maybe that’s a good thing?” 

“I don’t see how,” he mutters.

Sarah reaches out and puts her hand over his. “I don’t wanna tell either of you what to do,” she says gently, “but I can tell you for sure, that boy of mine’s as gone for you now as the day you met, and maybe you both need to stop worrying about ‘back then’ or ‘what if’ for one night.”

Bucky can feel himself getting emotional again — funerals really bring out the sap in him — but he clears his throat again to hide it, and lifts his head up with a smirk. “Sarah, are you suggestin’ what I think yer suggestin’?”

“As a good Christian woman, I’ll pretend I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” she says, grinning along with him. “It ain’t my business what you do, but I know he needs you right now.”

“You two should be spending time together,” he says, failing to put aside the guilt of being here. “You ain’t hardly seen each other in years—”

“And when’s the last time _you_ saw Steve?” she asks sharply.

Bucky winces. “Gotta give ya that one.”

She rolls her eyes and pulls her hand away from his to give him a light shove. “Just get up there and talk to him already,” she says, huffing at him and trying not to smile. “John’s a snorer, I’ve got earplugs.”

His laughter surprises him, but he’s relieved when Sarah laughs too. It feels comfortable, and strangely normal, to sit here and laugh with her. He pushes himself to his feet, before he can think about what might have been. “Alright, I’ll see you in the mornin’. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it,” she tells him, still looking out at the dwindling sunset. “And Bucky?”

“Mm?”

“Don’t worry so much.”

 

 

“C’mon in,” Steve says, just as Bucky’s raising his hand to knock. He’d gone to change into his sweatpants and brush his teeth first, before standing awkwardly outside Steve’s door, wondering what to say. “I know you’re standin’ out there like a scarecrow, Bucky!”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky grabs the handle and lets himself into the bedroom. Steve’s sprawled on his belly, reading, and he’s left the overhead light off in favor of the two mismatched lamps by his bed. “Uh, hi,” Bucky says, stepping inside. The floorboards are cold under his feet, and he shuffles forward onto the rug. 

“Shut the door, will ya?” Steve says, glancing up. “Forgot how cold this room gets.”

Steve’s wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, which takes Bucky a little by surprise, but they look good on him, if unfamiliar. Bucky nudges the door shut. He takes Steve asking him to stay as a good sign, and walks over to sit on the edge of the bed. “What’re you readin’?”

“Nothin’ really,” Steve mutters, pushing the book to one side and rolling to sit up. “Just this book I liked when I was a kid.”

“I remember,” Bucky says, leaning around him to read the spine. “I read it, y’know. You said it was yer favorite.”

Steve eyes him for a moment, maybe trying to decide if he means it or not. “Oh,” he says after a moment, chewing at his bottom lip. “Did you like it?”

Bucky nods. “I loved it. I like her sci-fi stuff a lot too.”

“Yeah, Le Guin’s amazing.”

The conversation falls flat, and Bucky preoccupies himself by looking around Steve’s bedroom, trying to tie it to what he remembers from the one, brief time he saw it. Steve doesn’t seem to have anything to say either, so eventually Bucky accepts that this one’s on him.

“I, uh — yer ma said — well, _I_ wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Steve sits up straight and gives him a mean look. “What’re you gonna do if I’m not?” 

“Whatever you need me to do,” Bucky says without even having to think about it. “I can leave, or I can stay, or—” He grins. “I can sing to you.”

That gets a smile out of him, but Steve just shakes his head and looks down at his hands folded in his lap. “I’m okay. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

Cautiously, Bucky turns to fold one of his knees up on the bed so he can face Steve, then reaches out and takes one of Steve’s hands in his own. “I’m here if you need,” he says, and then when Steve’s expression turns pained, he adds, “an’ if not, I can go. You know where I am if you change yer mind.”

"I don't need you to fix me," he says quietly.

Bucky stares at him. "Well, I'd hope not, cause you sure as shit don't _need_ fixing."

Steve relaxes. "Exactly."

Bucky starts to get up. “Okay, well, I’ll leave you be—”

“Wait.” Steve reaches up with his free hand and brushes his hair to one side awkwardly. He looks up at Bucky, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry. I want you to stay.”

“Well, ain’t that convenient,” Bucky teases, settling back down on the bed. “‘Cause this is right where I wanna be.”

They start out at opposite ends of the bed, talking about all kinds of nonsense — anything except the funeral, or their history together. After Steve mentions her a couple of times, Bucky asks to hear more about Peggy, and he’s glad that he did. It’s obvious from the way Steve talks about her that he still loves her, although he seems keen to make it clear that they broke up almost two years ago and they're just friends. Either way, Bucky`s glad Steve had her. Steve's still evasive when he talks about college; he mentions almost flunking out of sophomore year, but won't give the specifics. Bucky knows that there's a lot Steve isn't saying, but while it's difficult not to ask, he doesn't intend to push.

While they talk, Bucky reaches over and pulls Steve's feet into his lap. Steve laughs and goes to move them away again, but Bucky shakes his head and makes a shushing noise. 

"Keep goin'," he says, wrapping his fingers around the delicate arch of Steve's left foot and pressing in gently. 

"Fuck," Steve moans softly, letting his head fall back against the pillow. "What's this for?"

Bucky shrugs. "You don't like it, I can stop."

"No no, it's good." Steve smiles at him shyly. "You've always been good with your hands."

"Don't you give me those innocent eyes, Rogers, I ain't fooled." He grins, pleased when Steve flushes. Bucky shakes his head and clucks his tongue in feigned disapproval. "One hour back in your company and you already had me takin' my pants off."

"It's my party trick," Steve tells him, wriggling slightly so he can push his weight into Bucky more. The toes of his other foot dig into Bucky's thigh, so Bucky switches his attention to that foot instead. 

"So," Bucky says, running his thumb lightly over Steve's ankle. "You okay? Really?" 

Steve nods. "I'm okay, really. Are you? I guess I didn't really think about what it would be like for _you_ to come back here. I'm sorry."

Bucky lets out a soft snort of laughter. “What, just ‘cause I lost the love of my life and almost got arrested here?"

"Christ," Steve mutters, wincing. "Don't hold back." He shakes his head and pulls his feet out of Bucky's lap, folding them underneath him. 

"I'm kidding," Bucky says, shrugging. "Way Clint told it after, Rumlow's daddy was so ashamed of him, the kid wound up moving out to California, never looked back. I guess neither of 'em wanted it known he got his ass beat by some trashy piece of drifter shit."

"Talkin' yourself down, Buck? That ain't like you."

"That's right," Bucky says, trying to laugh. "I'm the soul of self respect." Steve doesn't laugh, and Bucky's own mirth dies out quickly. He's weighing something up, Bucky can see it, so he leans forward and nudges Steve's knee with his knuckles. "Hey, what's on your mind?"

Momentary indecision moves across Steve's face, and he shakes his head quickly before asking, eyes averted. "Not sure if I should ask this, but — I'm the love of your life?"

Until Steve says it back to him, Bucky hadn't even realized what he'd said, and a flash of horror goes through him at the careful, curious look on Steve's face.

"Fuck," he says under his breath, leaning back and reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. "Well if you shouldn'a asked, I probably shouldn'a said it."

Steve frowns at him. "But did you mean it?"

"Of course I did."

For a moment, Steve says nothing. He chews his lip again thoughtfully, looking away. "Is that — would you still've said that if we hadn't run into each other again?" he asks in a quiet voice, but he shakes his head and curses under his breath before Bucky can answer. "Forget it, that's a stupid question."

Bucky shakes his head. "No, it ain't. You really want me to answer? I'm pretty sure you already know what I'm gonna say."

The look on Steve’s face then could break hearts, and it certainly does its best to wreck Bucky. “I know you said you didn’t wanna go diggin’ in the past,” Steve says, his voice faltering a little, “but I don’t think it’s all bad."

“You’re right, it ain’t.” Bucky swallows against the sudden thickness in his throat. His hands still tingle with the pressure of Steve’s cold feet against his fingers.

“Well, while we’re reminiscing,” Steve says suddenly, scrambling off the bed. He goes to the closet in the corner and pulls open the door so he can rummage through it. “I reckon I still have ‘em in here.”

What Steve pulls out isn’t what Bucky was expecting at all. He was expecting maybe a box of photographs, movie ticket stubs, that kind of thing. What Steve holds up instead is the pretty lingerie Bucky bought him for his birthday, soft white cotton with pale pink ribbon. It looks tiny now; even though Steve doesn’t seem much bigger to him, Bucky can’t imagine it fitting him the way it used to. 

“Well that brings back some memories,” he whispers, reaching out to touch without thinking. Steve pushes the panties into his hands, and Bucky runs his thumb along a lacy edge. “I didn’t think you’d have kept ‘em.”

Steve laughs at him. “I kept somethin’ else too, thought maybe you’d want it back by now.” He puts the bra down by his pillow and fishes into the pocket of his sweatpants with his free hand, coming up with a crumpled, clinking shape. He reaches out and drops it into Bucky’s palm. 

It’s his dogtags. Well, one of them. The one he left behind with Clint the night he ran away.

Bucky clears his throat awkwardly. “You got it.”

Steve nods. “I knew you wouldn’a left ‘em if you were just gonna run. I — it helped me not to hate you, mostly. Knowin’ that you hadn’t gone ‘cause you wanted to.” He shakes his head sadly. “Still hated you a little bit, of course, but I got over that. Might’ve been easier if you never left it. I could’ve just forgotten about you.” He smiles softly. “But I’m glad that didn’t happen.”

This ain’t something Bucky has to think about. He gets to his feet and pulls Steve into his arms. Steve comes against him with a soft, joyous sigh, wrapping his arms tight around Bucky’s neck. He smells clean from a shower, and Bucky doesn’t miss the opportunity to bury his face in Steve’s hair and breathe him in deep. The room is so quiet that he can hear Steve’s breathing notch up a little, feel the shiver when he strokes Steve’s back. He presses his mouth to the tip of Steve’s ear, and he can almost taste the foreign heartbeat on his tongue. 

“Stay,” Steve whispers, mouth wet and chasing over Bucky’s collarbone. “Stay with me.”

Bucky couldn’t say no even if he wanted to.

 

 

When Bucky wakes up, he's warm and content, with a raging boner and an abstract knowledge that he'll have to visit the bathroom pretty soon. He ought to get up before Karen wants the shower, but right now he's comfortable, with his nose buried in a mess of good-smelling hair. 

"Mornin' to you too," his bed companion murmurs, grinding back against his dick. For a moment, they remind him so strongly of Steve that he's caught between two overwhelming urges: to get up and run, or roll them onto their back and kiss them til neither of them can draw breath. He settles on the latter, and his partner makes a soft noise of surprise before surging up meet the kiss. Bucky runs his fingers through their hair, and slowly, slowly, the knowledge of where he is starts to trickle into his brain. 

He doesn't want to open his eyes, afraid that that he will and it won't be Steve after all. But then a cold hand slips down the back of his boxers, and _that_ is too familiar not to be true. 

"Stevie?" he whispers against that soft, beloved mouth. "God, Stevie—"

"Buck—" Steve gasps, twitching in his arms when Bucky bites his neck. "Oh—" 

Bucky finally opens his eyes, and there's Steve, right where he should be. “Hey,” he murmurs, brushing Steve’s bangs to one side.

"That's some wake-up call," Steve says, looking dazed, his fingers curling in the hair at the back of Bucky's neck.

"Wasn't sure you were real. You’re too good to be true."

"What a line," Steve says, grinning at him. "Corny as ever."

Bucky feels his cheeks get hot, and he’s not sure if he’s blushing or just turned on from being so close to Steve. “You okay?” he whispers, moving his hand instinctively to hold Steve’s chin gently.

Steve nods slightly. "I missed this," he whispers back, barely audible. His eyes have a shine to them in the low light, like he might be about to cry.

"Me too, kitten." Bucky feels his heart jump when Steve's breathing hitches momentarily, and he can't help the sappy smile. "You miss that too?"

“Uh huh,” Steve whispers, his eyes going wide and wanting. He ducks his head slightly and licks the tip of Bucky’s thumb into his mouth. 

Bucky makes a low, startled sound in his throat, before pulling his thumb out and pressing it against Steve's soft lower lip. "Can I kiss you again?"

"You'd better," Steve gasps, tilting his head back and tugging at Bucky's shoulder.

The kiss is slow — not tentative, but tender and indulgent. They’re lying side by side, so Bucky moves one of his legs to hook over Steve’s, sliding it between his thighs. Sighing happily, Steve pulls him closer by the small of his back, one hand slipping into his boxer shorts again. “Steve,” Bucky murmurs against his lips, between languorous kisses, “Y’sure about this?”

“Godammit, Barnes,” Steve groans, pausing to bite Bucky’s lip a little too hard, “you got eight years of not screwin’ me to make good on. Don’t you back out now.”

“You got it,” Bucky murmurs, moving his mouth down to Steve’s throat to suck on his adam’s apple. Steve rolls up under him, hips pushing against Bucky’s while he moans quietly, the sound humming through Bucky's mouth. He grabs hold of Steve's arms, drawing them up over his head on the pillow and holding them in place. Steve wriggles pleasantly and wraps his leg around Bucky’s, pushing his cold toes against Bucky’s calf. He’s surprised by the sudden burst of laughter that he has to muffle against Steve’s shoulder — unable to stop himself even when he feels Steve go tense underneath him. 

“What’s funny?” Steve asks, twisting his wrists in Bucky’s grip. The movement isn’t enough to get him free, and Bucky’s relieved to see that Steve is smiling too.

It seems too soon to tell him how much he’d missed his cold toes in bed, so Bucky just shakes his head and cracks a crooked smile. "Just can't believe how normal this feels," he says instead, tugging the neckline of Steve's t-shirt down so he can kiss across his chest. "Y’think?"

There's a softness to Steve sometimes that Bucky had almost forgotten, and he remembers it now when Steve whispers for his hands to be released so he can cradle Bucky`s head against his chest, and press kisses into his tangled hair. 

"Yeah," he says, so softly that Bucky could almost have imagined it. “It feels just right.”

Bucky tilts his head up and they kiss again slowly. Steve strokes his fingers through Bucky’s hair, teasing lovingly at the loose tangles, making him sigh and lean in for more. Obliging him, Steve drags his nails lightly over Bucky’s scalp, and scrapes them down the back of his neck. Shivering with pleasure, Bucky pushes his fingers up underneath Steve’s t-shirt and touches his belly. It quivers under his touch, Steve hitching in a sudden, startled breath. Encouraged, Bucky slides his palm up to the base of Steve’s ribs, sliding around to span the side of his waist, enjoying the way Steve moans into the kiss and rocks up against him. 

“Please,” Steve gasps, pulling away a little, “ _please_ tell me you brought condoms?”

“Aw, Jesus,” Bucky groans, hiding his face in Steve’s neck and thinking of the unopened box he'd left in his bedside drawer back home. “I'm an idiot.”

Steve huffs, obviously disappointed and trying to hide it. “Okay,” he says quietly. “That’s okay, we can still fool around.”

"You bet," Bucky mutters, before nipping at the soft skin of his neck. He slips his hand down from Steve's waist, moving to press against his dick through his underwear. 

“Aw yeah,” Steve groans, grabbing handfuls of Bucky’s undershirt. Bucky presses down with the heel of his palm, rubbing slowly along the length of Steve's dick. 

“God, I wanna suck you,” Bucky says softly, before lapping at Steve’s throat with his tongue. “Reckon yer ma’s got any condoms?”

Steve groans loudly and covers his face with his hands, his legs untangling from around Bucky and falling flat onto the mattress. “Oh _god_ ,” he moans, while Bucky starts cackling. “Oh god, Bucky _why_. Why would you _say_ that?”

"Safety first, you know?" he teases, while Steve just folds both his arms right over his face.

"No no no no _no_."

Bucky runs his fingertips along Steve's bare forearm, making sure to be extra gentle when he reaches the inside of his elbow. Sure enough, Steve shivers a little, and Bucky takes advantage of the slip to prise his arms apart carefully and kiss his mouth as it's revealed. "Forget I mentioned it," he whispers, still trailing his fingers over Steve's sensitive skin. "I'm gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart."

Steve smirks at him. "Promise?"

"What, you forgot?" 

"Not a chance," Steve murmurs, leaning up to catch his mouth again. He presses his tongue against Bucky's lower lip, and Bucky lets him nudge the tips of their tongues together for one soft, electrifying second. 

Then he groans and presses his hand down again, rocking a steady pressure over Steve's prick while the kiss drags them both down deep. Steve's arms tie loose around his neck, framing his shoulders with one forearm, the other curling around the back of his head. Bucky cups his fingers around Steve's dick, as much as he can through his underwear, and Steve surges up with a noisy moan.

"Sorry, sorry," Bucky whispers, changing the pressure to a light touch of his fingertips. 

Steve whines softly, his grip on Bucky's shoulder tightening. "Buck—"

"Wait, I don't wanna rush." Bucky kisses the corner of his mouth, then moves to his chin, the delicate skin underneath his jaw where he has a faint trace of stubble, the hollow at the center of his collarbone. His hands remember their way over his ribs, savoring the knowledge that once he counted them and kissed each one individually. His thumb rubs over the nub of Steve's hipbone, pushing up his t-shirt again, and he listens for the hitch in Steve's breathing when he slips an inch lower to tease at the edge of his waistband. 

Steve's hands meanwhile trace the muscles in Bucky's back, lingering over his shoulder blades and the scar on his left side. Bucky shivers when Steve strokes down his spine, and he grabs a handful of Steve's ass, pulling him up to grind their hips together.

"Aw yeah," Steve gasps, clinging to him. He draws his knees up around Bucky's hips and squeezes them tightly. 

They find a lazy rhythm, thrusting against each other and kissing unhurriedly. Neither of them can stop smiling; as soon as one of them manages to keep a straight face for more than twenty second, the other will set them off again. Bucky doesn't have it in him to care, not in the slightest, not with Steve tucked up against him, gasping with smothered laughter and warm, uneven breaths in his ear.

Bucky rolls them over so that he can pull Steve on top of him, and there's a moment of awkwardness where they both get in each other way and have to shuffle around to find space. But then Bucky's on his back with Steve in his lap, skinny butt grinding against his dick. Bucky flattens his palm over Steve's belly, heading downwards, reaching into his underwear.

"Shit," Steve moans, arching his back when Bucky wraps a hand around his dick. "Bucky, _yes_."

"That's it, sweetheart, lemme hear ya," Bucky murmurs, sliding his other hand up to touch Steve's throat, brushing his Adam's apple with the tips of his fingers. 

Anything they have to say after that melts into wordless sound, the two of them communicating with touch and laughter, pushing each other's hands to where they want them and giggling against each other's mouths like giddy teenagers. Bucky's overwhelmed by how easy it is; Steve is eager and demanding, but forgiving when he fumbles and gets it wrong. They're both too pleased at having this back to do anything but savor each moment on their fingertips. 

Bucky's breath jumps in his throat when he feels Steve shudder against him. Steve's fingers dig into his shoulders and he comes suddenly, making a low, keening noise against Bucky's cheek while he spills over Bucky's fist and his stomach.

"Oh shit," Steve gasps, turning his head to kiss Bucky's mouth lazily. "Christ, that felt way too good for a quick hand job." He props himself up slightly, and curses when he glances down between them. "Sorry, I think I wrecked your shirt."

"Who cares," Bucky says, pulling him back down. He wraps his sticky hand around Steve's shoulders to crush him against his chest and fit their mouths together. 

Steve rocks against him, loose and gentle now that he's come. "Mm, wanna make you come too, Buck," he murmurs, dragging his fingers down Bucky's chest. He grabs the edge of Bucky's undershirt and tugs it up. "C'mon, get your shirt off."

Steve rolls away to give him some room, and between them they wrestle Bucky out of his shirt and sweatpants. The look on Steve's face when Bucky's dick jumps free of his waistband is reverent, the tongue that wets his lip an act of worship. He leans over and presses his face into Bucky's stomach, a soft moan escaping his mouth, and Bucky cups Steve’s head with both hands as if in prayer.

“You smell just the way I remember,” Steve whispers breathlessly, rubbing catlike against Bucky’s skin. He snuggles down between Bucky’s legs, bony knees and shoulders getting in a comfortable tangle with Bucky’s thighs. 

Bucky lifts his hips when Steve’s hands slip down the backs of his legs to paw at his ass, kneading gently as Steve works his way down from Bucky’s navel to the crease of his left thigh with slow, gnawing kisses. When Bucky looks down, he sees that Steve has left red marks on his skin, and the shock of pleasure it causes makes him tighten his fingers in Steve’s hair.

“Fuck,” Steve whispers, tensing suddenly.

“Sorry, sorry.” Bucky lets go quickly, but Steve slips his hand out from under Bucky’s thigh to grab his wrist and pull it back. 

“Don’t,” he says, looking up with lust dark eyes. “Just surprised me. Don’t stop.”

With Bucky’s fingers buried in his hair again, Steve drops his face to rub it against Bucky’s dick, nuzzling into it, his cheek velvety smooth and warm with the flush of orgasm. Steve shuffles around so he can suck his middle finger into his mouth, mesmerizing Bucky with the slow push of skin over his lips and the way his cheeks hollow in. 

“Lift up again,” he murmurs, nudging at the underside of Bucky’s thigh with his shoulder. Bucky does it, watching with his mouth half open as Steve wraps his fingers around Bucky’s dick, and strokes softly over his hole at the same time.

Bucky grunts with the effort of keeping quiet and lets his head fall back against the pillow. “Christ, kiddo,” he mutters, his voice gritty and weak with arousal. “Wasn’t expecting _that_.”

Steve makes a thoughtful noise. “You mind?”

“Hell no,” Bucky says. He resists the urge to push up into Steve’s fist, because it would take him away from the quiet breach of Steve’s finger easing inside him. “Just a little out of practice.”

“Then let’s get you back in form,” Steve whispers, jerking his fist slowly.

 

 

It’s been a long time since Bucky spent the whole morning in bed with someone, but by the time he and Steve drag themselves out of bed and into the shower — separately, otherwise they’ll _never_ make it downstairs — Bucky’s already come twice, and he and Steve have spent the longest time just staring into each other’s eyes, or running their hands over each other’s bodies like they can’t quite believe their luck. Eventually there’s no way they can stay in bed longer without either causing themselves injury or serious disrespect to Mrs. Rogers by abusing her hospitality, and they drag themselves downstairs. 

Sarah’s cooking breakfast when they get there, and she presents them both with a big plate of bacon, eggs and more leftovers. 

“You boys sleep well?” she asks, taking a seat opposite Bucky.

“Ma,” Steve says in a warning tone.

Sarah sips her coffee to hide her smile, and Steve rolls his eyes. Bucky grins at them both and tucks into his breakfast with relish. 

They kill the afternoon helping Sarah around the farm, and clearing out some old things. She’s thinking of selling the place, she says — too much work for one person, and it’s not the same without her boys around. Later, she sets Bucky to clearing out the shed at the back of the farmhouse while she and Steve sort through the pastor’s clothes upstairs. 

The shed is much as Bucky remembers it, for all that he does. He and Steve made out there a couple of times, but they usually kept their shenanigans away from the farmhouse, and the farm tools were mostly kept up by the stables, so Bucky isn’t all that familiar with it. He spends an hour or so shifting tools and getting things put into some sort of order, brushing out dirt and cobwebs as he goes. He’s bending down to reach into a corner when the shed door slams behind him, and he jumps up quickly, slamming his head on a wooden shelf.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hisses, dropping the broom and grabbing the back of his head. “Fuck.”

“Oh my god,” Steve says, stumbling over. “Are you alright?”

Bucky groans and straightens up properly. “Fine,” he says, rubbing at the sore spot. “Didn’t knock any sense in.”

“You’d need a much bigger shelf for that,” Steve says, reaching for him. “C’mere, lemme take a look.”

“It’s fine, it ain’t bleedin’.”

Steve huffs at him. “Just let me look, Christ. Or would you rather I fetch Ma down here?”

“No no,” Bucky says quickly. “Fine.”

He lets Steve hustle him over to the gritty window and submits patiently to have the back of his head examined. Steve is surprisingly gentle, his fingers cool on Bucky’s scalp as he lets his hair down and parts it carefully to find the raised bump where he hit it. Bucky can feel Steve’s breath on the back of his neck, and it’s instinct as much as anything that has him turning to catch Steve in his arms and press him up against the workbench. 

Steve laughs softly, letting his arms rest on Bucky’s shoulders. “How’d you know exactly what I was about to prescribe?” he murmurs, tilting his head to kiss Bucky’s chin, then the corner of his mouth. 

“God, I missed this,” Bucky says before he kisses Steve, honest the way he only seems able now when they’re in the dark together. Still, if the noise Steve makes is the affirmation it sounds like, then maybe Bucky’s not the only one. 

They kiss slowly, almost shyly for a couple of minutes, unsure with each other since they left the safe cocoon of Steve’s bed. Then Steve accidentally presses on Bucky’s bruise on the back of his head. Bucky groans loudly, and as Steve rushes to apologize, Bucky grabs him by his ass and hauls him up onto the workbench, wrapping Steve’s legs around his waist and kissing him filthily. Steve gasps and grinds against him, half hard in his shorts.

“God,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to Bucky’s. “How do you _do_ this to me?”

Bucky pushes his laugh into the side of Steve’s neck, moving up to nip at his earlobe. “If I remember right, you used’ta be the one draggin’ us into every haystack for a three-mile radius.”

Steve’s laugh is slightly strained. “Yeah, well — ah, that feels good — well, some of us are older’n wiser now.”

“Some of us just suffered a head injury,” Bucky shoots back, feeling up under Steve’s shirt and pressing his grubby hands against Steve’s skin. 

“Not _actually_ my fault,” Steve says, chuckling. He tilts his head to give Bucky better access to his neck, wrapping his knees a little tighter around Bucky’s hips. “Although if you make me come in my pants like a horny kid, I’m gonna have to get payback.”

Bucky groans and grabs Steve’s ass, dragging him closer. His mouth hovers at Steve’s right ear. “Yeah?” he growls. “What kinda payback?” He bites down gently on the point where Steve’s shoulder meets his neck, drinking in the desperate sound he makes. 

“Christ — Bucky, fuck,” Steve moans. “I was s’posed to come down here an’ fetch you for dinner.”

Laughing, Bucky buries his face in Steve’s shoulder before relaxing his hold on him. “Shit,” he says, pulling back with a grin on his face. “I guess that works as payback for now.”

Steve laughs and leans in to peck him on the mouth. “I’d be all for postponing it, but I already took my insulin. To be continued?”

“You bet.”

 

 

After dinner the three of them end up watching a movie. Sarah picks Harold and Maude because she says it reminds her of John, and if Steve and Bucky end up a little closer together than might seem just _friendly_ , well, nobody’s saying anything. Sarah looks pretty pleased when she glances over and catches them slumped together in the middle of the couch, Bucky’s arm slung around Steve’s shoulders, and Steve certainly seems content with it. Bucky is too, except for the knowledge that it’s not going to last much longer. It’s been nice, but it hasn’t been real. 

He’s been too busy paying attention to Steve and Sarah to catch much of the movie, so he’s surprised when he turns back from spotting that Sarah’s fallen asleep to find that Steve is crying softly, his tears wetting the shoulder of Bucky’s t-shirt. 

“Hey,” Bucky whispers, running his fingers through Steve’s hair. “What’s the matter, kitten?”

Steve just shakes his head and clings tighter, burrowing his face down to wipe it on the sleeve of his hoodie. Bucky doesn’t try asking again, too familiar with the way Steve hates to be badgered about how he’s feeling, but he sticks close after the movie’s ended, and Steve’s shepherded Sarah up to bed. 

“I’m gonna get a glass of water,” he says, and Steve pauses on the bottom step of the staircase. “You want anything?”

Steve shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good.” 

Bucky takes his time getting ready for bed and transferring his plastic sack of clothes into the old duffel bag that Sarah dug out for him earlier that afternoon. When he’s done, he knocks gently on Steve’s bedroom door and waits for Steve’s quiet “C’mon in” before pushing it open. 

“Hey,” he says quietly. 

Steve puts aside his laptop, folding it shut and tucking it under the bed. He folds back the sheets and smiles. “You gettin’ in?”

Bucky scoots over and climbs into bed beside Steve. He’s wearing his glasses again, and Bucky’s surprised by how much he likes them on Steve. Or maybe it’s just that the longer he looks at Steve, the more he likes what he sees, if that’s possible. 

Steve shuffles down until he’s lying on his side, curled towards Bucky with his knees drawn up. The weight of the pillow against his face makes his glasses sit a little wonky, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. Bucky gets comfortable, facing Steve with his head on the other pillow. 

“How’s your ma doin’?”

It’s hard to read the shrug from the position Steve’s in, but Bucky catches it. “Better’n I expected,” Steve says, frowning. “But she’s good at puttin’ a brave face on. I know she misses him a lot. They were crazy about each other, y’know?”

Bucky nods sadly. Even from the little he got to know them, it was clear Steve’s parents worshipped the ground each other walked on, though he thinks that’s nothing compared to how they each felt about Steve. “I’m glad you asked me to come,” he says, thinking aloud. “I—” He falters, then. Because there are a million and things he could say next, but none of them seem right: too honest or not honest enough. He smiles ruefully at his failure to come up with something. "I’m just really glad you asked.”

“Me too,” Steve whispers.

Steve looks different here, lit just by the two honey-colored lamps, his hair mussed up on the pillow. He rolls over to put his glasses on the nightstand, and Bucky turns onto his back to look up at the ceiling.

“Bucky?

“Uh huh?”

“D’you ever — nah, never mind.” Steve’s voice trails off, muffled in the sheets. Bucky rolls to face him again, and he sighs heavily. “Really, it ain’t anythin’.”

Bucky shrugs. “Then ask me.”

Steve hides his face in the pillow, smothering the flush on his cheeks. “I wasn’t thinkin’,” he mumbles, “ but it sounds stupid out loud.”

Reaching across the bed, Bucky runs his palm over Steve’s shoulder, rubbing it gently. “You don’t need to tell me anything, but I promise I won’t make fun.”

“It’s not like that,” Steve says, shaking his head a little. He turns a little towards Bucky, pressing his shoulder into the touch, though he keeps his eyes averted. “I was just thinkin’ — god, I can’t think of a way to say this that doesn’t sound awful. How — how’d you know when you were over me?”

Bucky frowns slightly, caught off guard. “What made you ask that?” he asks, watching Steve’s furtive expression, before quickly amending, “I don’t mind — you can ask me anything you want. But why’d you wanna know?”

“Just somethin’ I was thinkin’ about, when we were talkin’ the other night,” Steve says quietly. He’s curled up facing Bucky, but he’s got his elbows tucked in, his hands up under his chin. He swallows audibly and takes a deep breath. “See, I knew the summer I turned twenty-one. I — I wanted to be with Peggy, but she wouldn’t even consider it til I got my shit together.” He smiles, sad and bitter. “I was a mess, a total fucking mess. An’ I — I blamed it on you, for a while.” 

Steve glances up at him then, wary and contrite, but Bucky just shrugs amiably. “That’s fair, Stevie. I’d’a blamed me too.”

“Well it wasn’t fair,” Steve mutters, looking away again. “That’s what I realized. That I was just holding on to this dream of what we could’ve been.” He takes another deep breath, pushes it out as a heavy sigh. “But we wouldn’a, y’know? I was so young and stupid, and I still had college to go — we never would’a lasted, would we?”

Bucky hesitates for a moment, blindsided by the question. He’s not about to say he didn’t do the exact same thing Steve did — kid himself with fantasies about what could have been, torture himself with what-ifs. His fingers twitch where they lay on the sheets between him and Steve. Gathering his courage, he reaches up to brush Steve’s hair out of his eyes, then rubs his thumb gently along the grain of Steve’s delicate eyebrow. “No,” he says softly. “No, I guess we wouldn’t.”

“Y’think?” Steve’s mouth quirks, almost like a smile, but not quite. 

“You’ve always known who you were, where you came from.” Bucky rolls onto his back as he speaks and gestures at Steve’s bedroom. “Even when we first met, you were so — so _you_ , and you weren’t ever afraid of bein’ that.” He rubs his hand over his face, then tucks it behind his head on the pillow. “See, me, I don’t even know where my own accent is from. Stitched together from a dozen different places I grew up and moved through; six or seven different army bases before I turned fourteen, never really makin’ friends to keep, screwin’ around with whoever’d have me just fer somethin’ to do, someone to be near.”

“Christ, Bucky,” Steve says wretchedly. “I’m so sorry, you must’a got so sick of me whinin’ back then.”

Bucky laughs under his breath. “Not a bit. I never met anyone like you, before or since. You just — you’ve got so much to give, and you do, you keep on doin’ it.” He turns his head and smiles at Steve’s stunned expression. “It’s incredible, Stevie, I mean it.”

Steve frowns at him and pushes himself up slightly. “No, Buck — I don’t get it; you think you ain’t worth shit and that just ain’t true.”

"Well if that's true, you're the only person to see it, I sure never did." Steve looks desolate, and Bucky snorts and reaches over to nudge his arm playfully, trying to dispel the heavy mood. “We throw quite the pity party, don’t we, Rogers?”

For a moment Steve just scowls at him, then he sits up quickly, moving over to grab Bucky’s arms and pin them to the bed. “Shut yer mouth, Barnes,” he growls, throwing his leg over Bucky’s waist, and getting in so close that Bucky can see his eyelashes shuddering slightly. “Nobody talks shit about Bucky to me unless they wanna back it up.”

Groaning softly — as much at the spark of fury in Steve’s eyes as at the sudden contact — Bucky rolls his hips up, feeling Steve’s thighs grip his waist. “This is me backing it up, sweetheart,” he drawls, tilting his head. “You gonna do somethin’ about that?”

Steve turns his head and pinches the skin of Bucky’s throat between his teeth, before turning it into a slow, searing love bite. Bucky has to stifle a moan as he goes from _interested_ to _spring—fucking—loaded_ in about three seconds. 

“Stevie,” he gasps, “Christ, you didn’t used to be this much of a tease.”

“Finally learned a little patience, I guess,” Steve says in a lazy tone, making his way slowly along the length of Bucky’s neck, reacquainting his lips and teeth with the muscles there. 

“Long as you learned _somethin’_ in college, I guess—”

Steve’s laughter wets his throat as it bubbles up reluctantly, and he shifts his hands down to dig his fingers into Bucky’s pecs. “That’s your free shot used up, cowboy,” he warns, sitting up to grin at him. He scrapes his nails down Bucky’s chest, catching his nipples on purpose. “Better make the next hit count.”

With a snarl, Bucky grabs Steve and rolls him onto his back. “You like gettin’ yer way with me, don’tcha?” Steve doesn’t reply except for a quiet, wounded noise, but he’s practically biting through his bottom lip, so Bucky knows this is working for him. He shuffles down the bed and pushes his face into Steve’s inner thigh, turning to press his face against his cock through the damp layer of underwear. “I oughta just make you watch,” he growls, nuzzling Steve’s cock with his nose and mouth. “Not let you get off at all.”

“No no no,” Steve gasps, reaching to grab Bucky’s hair. “Please, please, I wanna come with you—”

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Bucky moves over a couple of inches and gets as much of Steve’s dick in his mouth as he can with his boxers in the way. Steve makes an eager, desperate noise, and starts scrabbling to get the waistband down with one hand, while the other tangles in Bucky’s hair. “Ease up a minute,” Bucky whispers, tapping his wrist. Steve lets go, and Bucky wriggles out of his own underwear before helping Steve off with his. “Mm, that’s better,” he says appreciatively, dipping his head so he can tongue along Steve’s dick. 

Steve’s head hits the pillow with a thump. “Fuck.”

Bucky laughs softly. “I know, we should’ve bought condoms.”

“No, no, it’s good,” Steve gasps, his hips twitching up against Bucky, cock pushing at his mouth. “Just wanna be close to you.”

"I could blow you if yer ma's got any plastic wrap downstairs."

Steve bursts out laughing, but it sounds pained. "Christ, Bucky, shut yer mouth before I take you up on that." Bucky tickles Steve's prick with the tip of his tongue and Steve groans and giggles at the same time. "C'mon, that ain't any safer and you know it."

Bucky does, but he's not altogether sure he'd let that stop him if Steve was game. "When's the last time you got tested?" he asks thoughtfully.

Steve shakes his head. "Nuh uh," he says in a more sober tone. "I'm being careful with you this time."

"Okay. Works for me," Bucky says, climbing on top of him and tugging one of Steve's thighs up around his hip. He pushes his dick against Steve's, smiling when it makes him gasp and scrabble at Bucky`s undershirt, then grinds his hips down.

"Aw, shit," Steve gasps, bringing his other leg up to pin Bucky’s hips between his thighs. "Bucky, Christ, you feel so good."

Although Bucky loves to hear him, he's already getting a little noisy, but at least that gives Bucky a good excuse to kiss him. Steve moans into his mouth when Bucky brings them together again, one of his hands twisting into Bucky’s hair while the other presses against his back, urging him to get closer, move faster. Desire surges in Bucky’s gut; he wants to take Steve’s cock in his mouth, swallow it down until he’s gagging; he wants Steve sitting on his face, wriggling and crying while Bucky tongues his asshole slowly. He settles instead for grabbing Steve’s hand and sucking three slender fingers into his mouth, tucking his tongue around them and nudging at the webbing between them. 

Steve’s messy whimpering and the desperate jerk of his hips makes Bucky think back to this morning, of sucking lazily on Steve’s balls while he fingered him and Steve jerked off over him. He thinks about Steve licking his own spunk off Bucky’s mouth, even though it didn’t happen. He wants it though, so badly. He thinks about this being the last time they do this, and he feels like crying. 

Spitting Steve’s fingers out, Bucky cups his face and kisses him hard. Their teeth click, and they both pull back for a second, wincing, but Steve is red-faced, his chest heaving and his mouth wet and wide and wanting, and Bucky can’t _not_ kiss him. There’s a burning behind Bucky’s eyes and a tightness in his throat, but he ignores it in favor of trying to bury himself in Steve, to crawl inside him as deep as he can and hope that he’ll never have to leave.

Bucky’s orgasm startles him, coming much sooner than he’d expected — especially after this morning — and Steve looks up at him in wonder when Bucky’s voice comes out as a sob, his cock jerking and shooting over Steve’s stomach. 

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” Steve gasps, reaching down between them to grab his own dick. “Buck, fuck, that was the hottest thing—”

Still shaking with the force of it, Bucky shakes his head slightly, holding himself over Steve with his eyes shut tight. “God,” he murmurs, when the sensation eases off. Steve is still watching him when Bucky opens his eyes. Steve is rapt, his hand working eagerly. Bucky drops down beside him and reaches to wrap his hand around Steve’s, slowing his pace slightly, then sliding further down to cup his balls. Steve moans loudly and his legs start shaking. Bucky nudges Steve, rolling him onto his side and spooning up behind him. He traces his fingers up Steve’s ribcage, feather light, before bringing his palm down on Steve’s thigh with a gentle but noisy slap. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ—” Steve moans loudly, arching his neck back. Bucky bites it obligingly, keeping his teeth dug into Steve’s skin while he slaps him again. “Fuck, _fuck_ —”

Steve’s hand starts moving faster, hips jerking and his ass pushing back against Bucky’s crotch. Bucky slides his other arm under Steve’s neck and holds the heel of his hand in front of Steve’s mouth for him to bite down on, which he does with a grateful sound. He makes it five more hits before he cries out, his whole body spasming and his teeth clamping down hard as he comes. 

For a couple of long, breathless minutes, they stay exactly where they are, curled around one another and touching each other’s skin with slippery fingers. 

"Mary ‘n Joseph," Steve pants, when Bucky rolls away. "That one's gonna keep me going another few years at least."

"Oh yeah?" Bucky says causally, though he can't help feeling hurt by the easy dismissal, even if he already knows this isn't going anywhere. 

"Oh yeah," Steve confirms eagerly. "You provided most of my best locker room fantasies the past few years." He grins. "One even involved a locker room."

"Think you're mixing me up with your little quarterback boyfriend there, sport." 

Steve frowns at him, confused. "My — oh, shit," he says, eyes widening. "I forgot about that guy."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Says it all. Heartbreaker."

"I ain't," Steve protests, blushing. 

"Sure you ain't," Bucky soothes, rolling over to kiss his belly, avoiding the mess of spunk that he wants to lap up like a cat stealing milk. He traces his fingertips back over Steve's ribs and nuzzles the trail of soft dark hair from his navel where it isn’t wet and tacky. Sighing happily, Steve wraps his fingers around the back of Bucky’s neck, rubbing at his hairline with his fingertips.

“Oughta clean up,” Steve mutters wearily. “Before I make a mess of these sheets. Ma would kill me.”

Bucky snorts, which makes Steve giggle, and they wind up shoving each other off the bed to find tissues and underwear and make themselves a little less disgusting. He’s feeling good, still in a golden haze, until they settle themselves back in bed and Steve curls up away from him again. A few long minutes pass while they lie there in the dark, and Bucky’s beginning to think Steve fell asleep before he finally speaks up. 

“I gotta drive home tomorrow. The office needs me back.”

Bucky nods. “Mister bigshot, I know, I ain’t forgotten.”

“Shut up,” Steve says, shoving at him. Bucky catches hold of his wrist and uses it to pull him closer, tangling their legs together as he tucks Steve up against his chest. He always expected Steve to put up more protest about cuddling like this, but he was dead wrong. He may be a mean little tornado in the sack, but once he’s done, he loves being petted and cooed at, much as he might put up a front of not wanting to be fussed over. Bucky’s glad he hasn’t grown out of it, and he takes the opportunity to comb his fingers through Steve’s silky hair, scraping gently down the back of his neck so that he makes soft, sleepy noises of contentment. 

“I’ve been thinkin’,” Bucky says at last, not sure if Steve’s even still awake to hear it. “I’m gonna go home, visit my pa.”

“That’s good,” Steve says, huffing against his neck. “You should see him, while you can.”

“I know, I know.” He tightens his arm around Steve, turning his head to kiss Steve’s forehead. “I’m sorry, kiddo, I really am.”

Steve is quiet for so long that Bucky thinks he’s decided not to answer, or maybe he’s fallen asleep, but then Steve takes a shuddering breath and goes ons, “I thought he’d always be here, y’know?”

“I know, honey.” 

“Stubborn son of a bitch,” Steve murmurs, the words sounding funny in his sleepy slur, half muffled in Bucky’s chest. “Should’a just told me what happened.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say to that, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. Within a minute, his breathing evens out further and he doesn’t bat an eyelid when Bucky shifts to get comfortable.

He wishes he could shut his eyes and let himself get used to this again, but there’s no use. He’ll go up to his dad’s ranch, Steve’ll go back to his job, and that’ll be that. Best to enjoy this for what it is now: Steve sleeping on his shoulder, fingers twisted in Bucky’s shirt, still flushed from screwing, and still just as beautiful as the last time Bucky saw him eight years ago. While they’re like this, he can pretend that they could ride off into the sunset together, that things would somehow magically fall into place just like they never did the first time around. 

“Stevie?” he whispers, nudging Steve’s shoulder gently. He doesn’t move, so Bucky brushes the hair away from his temple and kisses him gently. “I’d still go to the ends of the earth for you, kiddo,” he mutters, before closing his eyes and letting himself fall asleep too.

 

 

“Well, I guess I’ll see ya.”

“Hopefully before another eight years go past.” Steve says it lightly, but his expression is torn, his smile the least convincing that Bucky’s ever seen. 

“You bet,” he says, forcing his own smile. He doesn’t know why they’re pretending; it’s over, has been for a long time, this was just them finally saying goodbye. 

Steve’s taking his dad’s old truck later, leaving his ma with the old Chevy she uses for running to town and back. Bucky realized he couldn’t wait around that long, couldn’t watch Steve get packed up, certainly couldn’t stay behind to take his leave of Sarah after Steve had already gone. It’s soon after breakfast, but it gives him plenty of time to make good distance. He’ll call home from the road, and if it turns out his pa doesn’t want him home, he can worry about it then. 

Bucky’s already said goodbye to Sarah. She insisted on letting him and Steve have their own goodbye out in the yard, and while she didn’t say a word, he could see her holding something back. He wishes he could stop disappointing her. 

The truck is just a few feet behind him, already baking in the unseasonably warm sun, but Bucky doesn’t move to get in just yet. Steve is hovering a couple of steps away, his whole body tense, fingers twisting in the sleeves of his hoodie. And even though Bucky knows it’s just an illusion — wishful thinking, maybe — it makes him look much younger than he is, and Bucky _aches_ for him. “C’mere, kiddo,” he says, holding his arms out. Steve practically jumps into them, flinging his arms around Bucky’s neck and molding against him with a grateful sigh. Bucky holds him as tight as he can, trying to imprint the memory of Steve’s body into his skin.

“‘m real glad I ran into you, Bucky,” Steve murmurs, his voice muffled and only just audible. 

Bucky strokes his hand down Steve’s back. “Yeah, well, you better go easy on startin’ bar fights from now on,” he says, tilting his head to try and catch the smell of Steve’s hair one last time. “Remember, you won’t have me around to pull you out when it gets too hot.” 

Steve shakes his head and squeezes him tighter. “Asshole.”

“Takes one to know one,” Bucky whispers. 

The sun is warming his shoulders, and Bucky can feel Steve’s heartbeat under his left hand. He knows he has to stop this now, but all he can think about is Steve’s pale skin coming out in freckles again; his feet dusty from running through the dirt; the way he sleeps tucked up into himself. Bucky tries to take a deep breath and finds that he can’t, but he grits his teeth and forces his way through it. Like hell is he gonna let Steve see him upset now. There’s no sense in making this harder. 

“Send me a postcard when you get there,” Steve says when they finally, reluctantly, pull away from each other.

Bucky smiles, for real this time. “Y’think we have postcards where I’m from? They ain’t even _heard_ of tourists up there.”

“Write me a letter, then,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “Send me an email, whatever. I’ll miss you, ya big lug.”

Bucky drops his head and takes a step or two backwards. He can’t go down that road right now; he’s already full with the knowledge of how lonely and empty he’s gonna feel now that he knows Steve again. Now that he knows for sure it was real. 

“You take care of yerself,” he says tightly, while he fishes in his jeans pocket for his keys. “And yer ma too.”

“You bet.” 

Steve stands and watches as Bucky gets into the truck. He watches as it starts to pull away. Bucky turns out of the yard and onto the farm track. He figures that Steve will turn and go back into the house rather than watch him drive away again, but when he glances in the rear view mirror, Bucky sees him raise his hand to wave. 

The image hits him like a brick to the back of the skull. He steps on the gas pedal without thinking, turning his eyes back to the track ahead, trying not to look at the Steve in the mirror. The truck bumps over the uneven track, giving his tired suspension a workout, and he thinks about slowing down. But he can’t help taking one last look back at Steve. As Bucky glances up at him getting smaller in the mirror, Steve’s wave falters, his arm halting mid-air and falling to his side. He picks up his feet and starts walking along the track, after Bucky. 

Then, he starts to run. 

Bucky’s struck stupid for a few moments, darting his gaze between the track ahead and the sight of Steve running after him, fifty feet behind. Finally, his brain kicks in, and he slams on the brake. He’s out almost before the car has stopped rolling, hesitating just long enough to yank on the handbrake, and then he’s running too, skidding and stumbling in the mud from the previous night’s rain. 

“ _Bucky_ —” Steve chokes out as they crash against each other, Bucky catching him in his arms and using Steve’s forward motion to swing him around. 

“Stevie, fuck, Steve—” Bucky drops to his knees when Steve’s legs go out, crushing him close, his mouth pressed in against Steve’s neck where he can feel his pulse quivering against his lips.

“Don’t leave me,” Steve gasps brokenly in his ear, clinging to him so tight, fingernails digging in through Bucky’s shirt and scraping his skin. “Don’t leave me again, Bucky, god, _please_ , I can’t do it—”

Bucky cups Steve’s face between his hands and kisses him quiet. His mouth is soft and pliant but the rest of him is wild; his chest is heaving, his fingers scrabbling at Bucky’s shoulders, and his cheeks are wet when Bucky touches them with his thumbs. “Hey,” Bucky whispers roughly, pulling back just enough that he can speak. “I’m goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.” Steve opens his eyes, and Bucky smiles before leaning in to kiss some of the tears off his right cheek. “If you want me, I'm there."

“Fuck everything I said, seriously fuck it,” Steve says viciously, pressing his forehead against Bucky’s. “I don’t ever wanna let you go again.”

Bucky pulls him in for a kiss, and Steve sighs into him, running his hands up Bucky`s back, under his shirt. His knees ache from kneeling in the dirt, but all Bucky can feel is joy and relief welling up inside him like a pot of water boiling over. Steve nips at his bottom lip and Bucky laughs, cupping his face again softly.

"What is it?" Steve whispers, grinning against his mouth.

Bucky pulls back slightly to get a good look at Steve's face. "How is it that yer the best thing to happen to me twice?" he says, stroking Steve's cheek with his thumb again and staring into his eyes. Steve just gazes back at him, looking pleased and overwhelmed. "Christ, I missed you."

Steve laughs thickly. "Yeah, Buck. Me too." He reaches up to run his fingers through Bucky`s hair, smiling still, but when he speaks again his voice is low and wanting. "So, you gonna take me inside and screw me, or are we gonna do it right out here in the truck?" 

“You ain’t changed,” Bucky says fondly, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist to tug him closer. “Are ya sure though? I got nothin’ to offer you.”

“You’re an idiot,” Steve says, scowling at him. “There’s nothing else I want, Bucky. Just you.”

Bucky’s grinning like crazy as he gets to his feet, before tugging Steve up too. “You still know just the right thing to say to talk me into bed.”

Steve loops his arms around Bucky’s neck. “Sweetheart, I had years of practice before I even _met_ you. You didn’t stand a chance.”

“Still don’t,” Bucky murmurs, bending to kiss him again.

art by [feanorinleatherpants](http://feanorinleatherpants.tumblr.com/)  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ , for sticking out this ride with me! When crooked and I originally started chatting about this fic, I envisioned it might get to 10k, maybe 20k. And here we are, months and thousands of words later, and a bunch of awesome new friends :) 
> 
> I have a couple of little sequels in mind but I cannot promise I'll get around to writing them! So please: read, reread and [_share_](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/115616868285/some-days-last-longer-than-others-crooked) if you enjoyed :D
> 
> Also, please send some love (reblogs!) to feanor for these beautiful drawings: [1](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/113437348830/feanorinleatherpants-holy-bucky-murmurs-when) | [2](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/114624491135/feanorinleatherpants-bucky-feels-like-hed) | [3](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/115621277375/feanorinleatherpants-a-black-and-white#notes)  
> And please also send love (and reblogs!) to [assetsational](http://assetsational.tumblr.com/) for THEIR beautiful [artwork](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/103141585315/bob-genghis-khan-for-notallbees-who-is-working)
> 
> And, once again, check out these fantastic fanmixes!  
> [Some Playlists Are Weepier Than Others](http://8tracks.com/lickerswish/some-playlists-are-weepier-than-others) and [Some playlists have codas](http://8tracks.com/lickerswish/some-playlists-have-codas) by lickerish  
> [better men have hit their knees and bigger men have died](http://8tracks.com/ilgaksu/better-men-have-hit-their-knees-and-bigger-men-have-died) by ilgaksu
> 
>  
> 
>  **finally** , let me say that if you've reached the end and now have nothing good left in your life, check out the [farmboyverse tag](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/tagged/farmboyverse) on my tumblr, which features headcanons, art, music and LOTS of very NSFW pictures and gifs for your viewing pleasure :3

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr!](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> Like this? Please think about [reblogging on tumblr](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/115616868285/some-days-last-longer-than-others-crooked) :D
> 
> My eternal thanks to [lickerish](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lickerish/) and [nekare](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nekare/) for all their help and buttkicking! Also, thanks to [bob-genghis-khan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/idek_idic/pseuds/bob-genghis-khan) and [sonickitty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sonickitty) for fanart and cheerleading respectively :D <3


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